

«PO 






I 


f 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 


A 

\ 

'.'P 




I V ANHOE 


BY 

SIE WALTER SCOTT, Babt. 

1 ) 


WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 


/ 




Copyright, 1905 

BY \ 

MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 






/3 


. ' ■>-' ■ 





( 



<- *■ 


• u I. 



,;i 



.t 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


Walter Scott was bom in Edinburgh on the 15th of 
August, 1771, which was also the birthday of Napoleon 
Bonaparte. His father was a Writer to the Signet, or, 
as we would say, an attomey-at-law; a lawyer with a large 
practice; an elder in the famous Old Grey Friars Church, 
and a man of integrity, sincerity, and benevolence. Wal- 
ter was the ninth of twelve children, of whom the first six 
died young. 

“I was,” says Scott in his Autobiography, “an un- 
commonly healthy child . . . until I was about eighteen 
months old. One night, however, I exhibited an intense 
reluctance to be put to bed; and after having been chased 
around the room, I was with difficulty consigned to my 
dormitory. It was the last time I was to show such per- 
sonal agility. In the morning I was affected with fever; 
and in the course of three days afterwards it was discovered 
I had lost the power of my right leg.” 

The best physicians were consulted, and finally, at the 
advice of his mother’s father. Dr. John Rutherford, Pro- 
fessor of Medicine in the University of Edinbmgh, Scott 
was sent to live at the house of his father’s father, Robert 
Scott, a farmer of Sandy-Knowe in Roxburghshire, where 
the shepherd would often take him out and lay him down 
under the rocks beside the sheep. Scott used to say in 
after-life that “the habit of lying on the turf there among 
the sheep and the lambs had given his mind a peculiar ten- 


IV 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


derness for these animals, which it had ever since retained.’^ 
The boy never completely recovered from his lameness, but 
his activity among his schoolfellows was remarkable, and, 
according to his own account, he was as mischievous as the 
wildest urchin of his acquaintance. 

In his fourth year .he was sent to Bath, in the care of 
his aunt. Miss Janet Scott, where he remained about a year. 
By this time, he tells us, his health had become much 
improved by the country life prescribed for him by his 
grandfather, although his leg was still shrunken and con- 
tracted. In a word, he, who in a city would probably have 
been condemned to hopeless invalidism, became a healthy, 
high-spirited, and, except for his lameness, a sturdy child. 

While he lived at Bath he learned to read at a day school 
in the neighborhood, and profited much by the companion- 
ship of his aunt, who read aloud to him old English and 
Scottish ballads until he could repeat long passages by heart. 

From Bath he returned first to Edinburgh, and then to 
Sandy-Knowe; and when about eight years old he was 
removed to Prestonpans, as it was thought that sea-bathing 
might prove beneficial to his lameness. At Prestonpans 
little Walter Scott stayed for some weeks, and here became 
great friends with an old military veteran, Dalgetty by name, 
who had pitched his tent, after many campaigns, in that 
little village, where, though called by courtesy a captain, 
he lived upon an ensign ^s half-pay. He was the original 
of Captain Dugald Dalgetty, whom, with his redoubtable 
war-horse, Gustavus Adolphus, readers of The Legend of 
Montrose hold in pleasant remembrance. 

From Prestonpans, Scott was taken back to his father ^s 
house in George’s Square, Edinburgh, and, after having 
undergone the usual routine of juvenile instructions, he 
became, in 1779, a pupil in the Edinburgh high school. As 
a scholar he appears to have been by no means remarkable 
either for proficiency or for diligence; but his leisure hours 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


V 


were employed to good advantage in reading aloud to his 
mother, who had good natural taste and great feeling, and 
who succeeded in inculcating in his opening mind a dis- 
criminating love for literature. 

In childhood Scott’s hair was light chestnut, turning 
to brown in youth. His mouth was large and good-tem- 
pered, his eyes light blue, his eyebrows bushy. In spite 
of his lameness, he could climb rocks with the most daring,* 
and he soon learned to ride. Out of school he was known 
as a leader in two different accomplishments: he could tell 
his schoolfellows stories of wonderful adventures, which 
always held their attention; or he could lead them across 
the difficult path under the Castle to attack the boys of the 
town. 

After a few years in Edinburgh, Scott’s health again 
became delicate, and it was thought best that he should 
be sent to live with his aunt at Kelso, which he calls the 
most beautiful, if not the most romantic, village in Scot- 
land. From this time the love of natural beauty became 
with Scott an insatiable passion. 

It was while attending the grammar school at Kelso 
that he became acquainted with James and John Ballan- 
tyne. According to James Ballantyne, Scott was then 
devoted to antiquarian lore, and was certainly the best 
story-teller he ever heard. ^Hn the intervals of school 
hours,” says Ballantyne, ^^it was our constant practice to 
walk together by the banks of the Tweed, and his stories 
appeared to be quite inexhaustible.” This friendship with 
the Ballantynes continued through life, John having a share 
'in the publication of many of Scott’s works, while James 
was the printer of nearly all of them. 

When Scott returned to Edinburgh his acquaintance 
with English literature was greatly extended; he had read 
much in history, poetry, voyages, and travels, and an unusual 
amount of fairy tales, eastern stories and romances; in 


VI 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


short, he had been driving through a sea of books, like a 
vessel without a pilot or a rudder.” 

After having been two years under the rector of the high 
school, Scott enrolled himself, in 1783, for the humanity or 
Latin class under Professor Hill in the University of Edin- 
burgh, and in the Greek class under Professor Dalzel; the 
only other class for which he matriculated at the university 
was that of logic, under Professor Bruce, in 1785. All this 
time he was constantly reading. He learned Spanish and 
read Cervantes; he learned Italian and read Tasso and 
Ariosto; he steeped his mind in mediaeval romance and 
legend, and he still retained his fondness for the old ballads 
whose acquaintance he had first made in company with 
his Aunt Janet, when he was a boy of four years. 

In 1786, however, he was apprenticed to his father for 
five years, in order to be initiated into the dry technicalities 
of conveyancing, for his father destined him for the law. 
The change was very great; Scott had the strongest aver- 
sion to the confinement and the dull routine of the office. 
His desk was usually supplied with a store of works of fic- 
tion, and the eagerness with which he sought out and read 
everything that had reference to knight-errantry would have 
won the warm sympathy of the Ingenious Hidalgo, Don 
Quixote of La Mancha. 

About the second year of his apprenticeship he had the 
misfortune to burst a blood-vessel, and was confined to his 
bed for many weeks. During this time, conversation was 
forbidden, and his only amusements were reading and play- 
ing chess. In these weeks of enforced idleness he added 
to his readings of poetry and romance the study of history, 
especially as connected with military events, and thus col- 
lected much material that was of ultimate use in the com- 
position of his poems and novels. After this illness he 
enjoyed excellent health, and as his frame gradually hardened, 
he was rather disfigured than disabled by his lameness* 


LIFE OF. SCOTT 


vii 

Excursions on foot or on horseback now formed Scott ^s 
favorite amusements, and wood, water, and wilderness had 
inexpressible charms for him. When he saw an old castle 
or a battle-field, his imagination immediately peopled it with 
combatants in their proper costumes, and his hearers were 
overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of his description. 

In 1791 Scott was admitted a member of the Specula- 
tive Society ^ of the University of Edinburgh, and very 
shortly afterward was appointed its librarian and subse- 
quently its treasurer and secretary. 

The time of ScotUs apprenticeship had now elapsed, and 
after some consideration he determined to prepare himself 
for the bar, for which purpose he diligently applied him- 
self to the study of Roman civil law, as well as to the munici- 
pal law of Scotland. On the 10th of July, 1792, when just 
completing his twenty-first year, he was called to the bar 
as an advocate. 

^Lockhart tells us that Scott became a sound lawyer, and 
might have been a great one; ScotUs father, on the other 
hand, told him that he was better fitted to be a peddler 
than a lawyer, so fond was he of tramping the country in 
search of noble scenery and historic associations. It was 
on such expeditions that Scott learned to know the speech 
and ways of the peasantry, whom he describes so well in 
his books. In Redgauntlet, one of the most interesting of 
ScotUs novels, he gives us, in the person of Alan Fairford, 
a vivid picture of the tastes and occupations of this period 
of his life. The truth is, the love for antiquarian lore, which 
so impressed James Ballantyne, was still his ruling passion, 
while his necessities were not so great as to make an exclu- 
sive application to his profession imperative. Although 


^ For a description of the Speculative Society, or “ Spec.,’^ see Robert 
Louis Stevenson’s delightful essay, A College Magazine^ published in 
Virginibus Puerisqiie; Memories and Portraits, New York, Charleg 
Scribner’s Sons. 


Vlll 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


he could speak fluently at the bar, his mind was not at all 
of a forensic cast, and he was too much the abstract scholar 
to assume readily the mental attitude of an adroit pleader. 

The love of literature was strong in him, and in 1796, 
the year in which Burns died, he made his first appearance 
as a writer with a translation of Lenore, and the Wild Hunts- 
maUj from the German of Burger j which met with a favor- 
able reception from a somewhat limited public. 

About this time there was widespread indignation in 
Scotland at the hostile menaces of France, and numerous 
bodies of volunteer militia were formed to meet the threatened 
invasion. In the beginning of 1799 a cavalry corps was 
formed under the name of the Royal Mid-Lothian Regiment 
of Cavalry; Scott was appointed its adjutant, for which office 
his lameness was considered no bar. He was a very zealous 
officer, and highly popular in the regiment, and he always 
looked back upon this episode in his life with the greatest 
pleasure. 

In his nineteenth year, while still apprenticed to his father, 
Scott fell in love with Margaret, daughter of Sir John and 
Lady Jane Stuart Belches of Inverary. For some reason, 
most probably the difference in their social position, the 
hope that he might one day marry her was, six years later, 
definitely abandoned. Shortly afterward, during a visit to 
the English lakes, Scott met Miss Margaret Carpenter, or 
Charpentier, the daughter of a French royalist who had fallen 
a victim to the excesses of the French Revolution. This 
lady he married on Christmas eve, 1797, and her affectionate 
thoughtfulness contributed much to the happiness of his 
life. She died in 1826, leaving two sons and two daughters, 
the elder of whom married J. G. Lockhart, the translator 
of the Spanish Ballads. 

In 1799 Scott was appointed to the office of Deputy Sheriff 
of Selkirk, which secured him an annual salary of £300. 
The duties of the office were very slight, and the income 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


IX 


relieved him from any anxiety as to the chances either of 
his profession or his pen. In 1806 he was appointed one 
of the clerks of session (on the retirement of Mr. Home), 
with the understanding that he should not receive the 
salary (£800 per annum) until after Mr. Homers death, 
which did not take place for more than five years after- 
ward. When Scott obtained this situation, he gave up his 
practice at the bar, and at once decided that literature should 
thereafter form the main business of his life. His first 
real literary success was his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 
published in 1802. To the old ballads, the collected results 
of many years of research, Scott added a few new ones of 
his own composition, written in imitation of the old. The 
edition was at once exhausted, and Scott suddenly found 
himself famous. 

He was living now in a cottage at Lasswade, on the Esk, 
six miles from Edinburgh. Scott had made the dining- 
table with his o^ hands, and was very proud of his vari- 
ous exploits in carpentering. Here he used to sit up late, 
and work far into the morning hours; but this gave rise 
to serious headaches, which induced him to change his 
habits of life. 

In 1804 Scott quitted Lasswade for Ashestiel, in Selkirk- 
shire, where he lived in a house belonging to his cousin. 
Here he began his life of sport. He would rise at five and 
work steadily till breakfast; by noon he had finished his 
day’s work, and was ready to ride forth with dog and gun 
or fishing-tackle. Salmon-spearing by torchlight was a 
favorite amusement with him. His dogs and horses he 
created as personal friends. On the death of his deerhound 
Samp, he refused an invitation to dinner, giving as his rea- 
son ^Hhe death of an old friend.” 

In 1805 his first great poem. The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
was completed, and forty-four thousand copies were sold 
before 1830. For this work Scott received £769, a large 


X 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


Slim in those days. In 1808 Marmwn was published. It 
was the success of the Lay which produced Marmion. It 
is said that Scott received £1000 from his publisher for 
this poem before he had written a line of it. The popu- 
larity of Marmion in turn encouraged him to another attempt 
in the same vein, and in 1810 he published The Lady of the 
Lake. , 

Five years earlier he had formed a secret partnership 
with James Ballantyne, already mentioned, and had embarked 
in the printing business. In order to keep his presses sup- 
plied with work, he soon after founded, with John Ballan- 
tyne, a publishing house; neither John Ballantyne nor Scott 
was a business man, and the business was unprofitable almost 
from the start. 

Meanwhile he removed to Abbotsford on the Tweed, 
where he bought a hundred acres of land, to which prop- 
erty he soon added the adjoining farms. He says: “We 
had twenty-five cartloads of the veriest trash in nature, 
besides dogs, pigs, ponies, poultry, cows and calves.” The 
ruins of Melrose Abbey could be seen from the grounds, 
which had, in fact, once belonged to the abbot. Shortly 
after he was offered the laureateship, an honor which he 
declined. 

Up to this time Scott’s literary fame depended entirely 
on his poetry, but in 1814 his first novel, Waverley, took 
the reading world by storm. The story was published 
anonymously, and for many years the secret of the author’s 
identity was reserved. The great publishers of London 
and Edinburgh vied with each other in their efforts to buy 
a share in Waverley, and the series of novels which followed 
it. They were finally sold to Constable, but by the terms 
of sale that publisher was required to buy at the same time 
a large part of the stock of John Ballantyne & Co., the luck- 
less publishing house in which Scott was a shareholder. 
The purchase of so much of the stock of the old concern 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


XI 


seriously impaired Constable's working capital, and the new 
firm faced the future burdened with debts, largely to the 
printing-house of James Ballantyne & Co., in which business 
also Scott was a stockholder. 

The remarkable success of Waverley was, however, fol- 
lowed by a series of no less remarkable successes. Guy 
Mannering was published in 1815, The Antiquary, The Black 
Dwarf, and Old Mortality in 1816, Roh Roy and The Heart of 
Midlothian in 1818, Ivanhoe in 1820, and Kenilworth in 1821, 
all of which attained a large measure of popular favor. 

On the 31st of March, 1820, Scott was created a baronet 
by King George IV. At the time the honor was conferred 
the king observed to the poet: shall always reflect with 

pleasure on Sir Walter Scott^s having been the first creation 
of my reign. Scott had already been elected President 
of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and seemed almost 
beyond the reach of adverse fortune. Five years later the 
crash came. In the commercial excitement of 1825-1826 
the house of Constable & Co. was declared bankrupt. The 
printing firm of James Ballantyne & Co. held Constable's 
notes for large sums, and it soon became necessary for Scott 
and his partner to declare their inability to meet their busi- 
ness obligations. In this same year Scott’s wife, who had 
long been an invalid, died, and he himself began to fail in 
health. 

These were blows enough to daunt most men; perhaps 
the blow to his pride was the heaviest. He says in his 
diary: felt rather sneaking as I came home from the 

Parliament House — felt as if I were liable monstrari digito 
in no very pleasant way. But this must be borne cum 
cceteris; and, thank God, however uncomfortable, I do not 
feel despondent.” 

No; Scott came of a line of fighting ancestors, and he 
was not one to sit down tamely under difficulties. This 
misfortune was the touchstone of his character, and brought 


Xll 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


out all its beauty and generosity. He might have declared 
himself bankrupt, and have risen again with debts partly 
paid off; but ^Hor this,’^ he says, “in a court of honor 1 
should deserve to lose my spurs. No; if they permit me, I 
will be their vassal for life, and dig in the mine of my imag- 
ination to find diamonds to make good my engagements, 
not to enrich myself.^' 

As soon as his situation became public, it caused one 
universal biu^t of sympathy, and incredible offers of assist- 
ance were made to Scott. When the Earl of Dudley heard 
of his failure, he exclaimed: “Scott ruined! the author of 
Waverley ruined 1 Wliy, let every man to whom he has given 
months of delight give him a sixpence, and he will rise 
to-morrow morning richer than a Rothschild.” 

Scott ^s liabilities were about £117,000. Two days after 
the failure he unreservedly assigned the whole of his property 
to his creditors, together with alt his future labors. He 
then sat down at fifty-five years of age to the task of redeem- 
ing this enormous debt. In the first place, he sold his fur- 
niture and house in Edinburgh, and took a humble lodging 
in a side street. During the vacations, when living at Abbots- 
ford, he almost entirely gave up seeing company — a reso- 
lution the more easily carried into effect as Lady Scott was 
no longer living. “I have been rash,” he writes in his diary, 
“in anticipating funds to buy land; but then I made from 
£5000 to £10,000 a year, and land was my temptation. I 
think nobody can lose a penny by me, that is one conso- 
lation. My children are provided for: thank God for that! 
I was to have gone home on Saturday to see my friends. 
My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish, but the 
thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved 
me more than any of the painful reflections I have put down. 
Poor things! I must get them kind masters.” Again he 
writes m a more cheerful strain: “I experience a sort of 
determined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


xiii 

of this sudden reverse; in standing, as it were, in the breach 
that has overthrown my future, and saying, ^Here I stand, 
at least an honest man/ 

The proceeds of the very first work published after the 
failure, the celebrated novel Woodstock, amounted to more 
than £8000. The next year, 1827, two editions of Scott's 
next work. The Life of Napoleon Buonaparte, produced, for 
the benefit of the creditors, the then unprecedented sum 
of £18,000. 

These sums, together with the mone}^ received from other 
publications, enabled Scott's trustees to distribute among 
his creditors six shillings in the pound on their whole claim, 
before Christmas, 1827, nearly £40,000 having been realized 
by the exertions of two years. Before the close of 1830 
Scott's debt had been reduced to about £54,000. 

In December, 1830, it was unanimously agreed, ^^That 
Sir Walter Scott be requested to accept his furniture, plate, 
paintings, library, and curiosities of every description, as 
the best means the creditors have of expressing their very 
high sense of his most honorable conduct, and in grateful 
acknowledgment for the unparalleled and most successful 
exertions he has made, and continues to make, for them." 
This generous gift was worth at least £10,000, and it enabled 
him (to use nearly his own words) to eat with his own spoons 
and to study with his own books. 

When Scott died, his trustees had an undistributed 
balance on hand, which, with his life , insurance, and the 
money realized by the sale of his copyrights, was sufficient 
to pay off all his debts. 

In the winter of 1830 it became apparent to Scott's friends 
that his mind had lost something, and was daily losing some- 
thing, of its wonted energy. ^^I have lost," he said, ''the 
power of interesting the country, and ought in justice to 
all parties to retire while I have some credit." Before the 
close of the year he was attacked with apoplexy, and a 


XIV 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


consultation of physicians was held. They told him that 
if he persisted in working his brain, nothing could prevent 
another and more serious attack. His first reply was: ^^As 
for telling me not to work, Molly might as well put the kettle 
on the fire and say, ^Now, donT boil,’ ” but in a few months 
he put himself unreservedly in the hands of the doctors, 
and agreed to spend the ensuing winter in a warmer climate. 

In October, 1831, Scott left London for Portsmouth, 
whence he sailed for Malta. In December he went to Naples, 
where he remained some months, and thence to Rome, 
where he was received with the greatest enthusiasm. On 
the 16th of May he left Rome, and crossing the Apennines, 
went to Venice. From Venice he went to Frankfort, where 
he took the Rhine steamboat. Coming down the Rhine 
he had another attack of apoplexy, this time combined with 
paralysis; he, however, reached London on the 13th of June, 
and was immediately put to bed. His great anxiety was 
that he might reach Abbotsford before he died, and at length 
his medical attendants consented to his removal to Scotland; 
on the 7th of July everything was prepared for his journey 
by the steamship. He became unconscious on the boat, and 
remained so until he came within sight of the towers of 
Abbotsford. When he reached his home, ^^his dogs assembled 
about him, began to fawn upon him, and to lick his hands, 
and he alternately sobbed and smiled over them until sleep 
oppressed him.” For four or five days after his arrival he 
was daily wheeled about the house and the garden, but on 
the 16th he was much feebler and remained in bed; the. 
next day he asked to be placed at his desk, but when the pen 
was put into his hand, he was unable to close his fingers 
upon it, and it dropped upon the paper. The tears sprang 
to his eyes, but his old pride asserted itself. ^'Friends,” he 
said, don’t let me expose myself; get me to bed.” He 
was carried to bed, where he lay unconscious for several 
days. Returning to consciousness, he asked to see Lock- 


LIFE OF SCOTT 


XV 


hart, his son-in-law and afterward his biographer* Lock- 
hart,^’ he said, “I may have but a minute to speak to you. 
My dear, be a good man — ^be virtuous — be religious — ^be a 
good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when 
you come to lie here.” He paused; Lockhart said, Shall 
I send for Sophia and Anne?” — '^No,” said he, ^^don’t dis- 
turb them. Poor souls ! I know they were up all night. God 
bless you all!” With this he sank into a very tranquil sleep, 
and indeed he scarcely afterward gave any sign of conscious- 
ness. He died September 26, 1832, in the second month of 
his sixty-second year. About seven years before he had 
written in his diary: Square the odds and good-night, 
Sir Walter, about sixty. I care not, if I leave my name 
unstained, and my family property settled. Sat est vixisse” 


CRITICAL OPINIONS 


Surely since Shakespeare’s time there has been no great 
speaker so unconscious of an aim as Sir Walter Scott. — 
Thomas Carlyle. 

He saw life, and told the world what he saw. Has any 
writer since his time supplied it with a fuller, fairer vision? 
His very style, loose and rambling as it is, is a part of the 
man, and of the artistic effect he produces. The full vigor 
and ease with which his imagination plays on life is often 
suggested by his pleonasms and tautologies; the search 
for the single final epithet is no part of his method, for he 
delights in the telling, and is sorry when all is told . — Walter 
Raleigh. 

Walter Scott is a great genius — he has not his equal — 
and we need not wonder at the extraordinary effect he 
has produced on the reading world. He gives me much 
to think of, and I discover in him a wholly new art, with 
laws of its own. — Goethe. 

If there were, or could be, any man whom it would not 
be a monstrous absurdity to compare with Shakespeare 
as a creator of men and inventor of circumstance, that 
man could be none other than Scott. Greater poems than 
his have been written, and, to my mind, one or two novels 
better than his best; but when one considers the huge 
mass of his work, and its quality in the mass, the vast range 
of his genius, and its command over that range, who shall 
be compared with him? — A. C. Swinburne. 

xvi 


CRITICAL OPINIONS 


xvn 


If Byron and Scott could have been combined, — ^if the 
energetic passions of the one could have been joined to the 
healthy nature and quick sympathies of the other, — ^we 
might have seen another Shakespeare in the nineteenth 
century . — Leslie Stephen, 

Probably no author of the highest mark has been so little 
conscious of his greatness as Scott. His amazing success 
left the manly simplicity of his nature untouched. His 
warmth of affection for homely folk, his pleasures and his 
duties, his gentleness and his courtesy, — he was a gentle- 
man, it was said, even to his dogs, — ^were unaffected by the 
popularity that made his name everywhere familiar. What- 
ever was lovely and of good report was loved by him, and 
the stamp of a healthy nature is left upon all that he has 
written . — John Dennis, 

Far-seeing toleration, profound reverence, a critical insight 
into the various shades of thought and feeling, a moderation 
which turns to scorn the falsehood of extremes, a lofty sense 
of Christian honor, purity, and justice, breathe through 
every volume of the romances of Walter Scott . — Dean Stanley, 

Scott has said of himself: ^^To me the wandering over the 
field of Bannockburn was the source of more exquisite pleasure 
than gazing upon the celebrated landscape from the battle- 
ments of Stirling Castle. I do not by any means infer that I 
was dead to the feeling of picturesque scenery ; on the contrary, 
few delighted more in its general effect. But I was unable 
with the eyes of a painter to dissect the various parts of 
the scene, to comprehend how the one bore on the other, 
to estimate the effect which various features of the view 
had in producing its leading and general effect. It is true 
that he had not a painter ^s eye any more than he had a 
musician’s ear; and we may be sure that the landscape 
charmed him most when it was the scene of some famous 
deed or the setting of some legendary tower. Yet he had 


XVUl 


CRITICAL OPINIONS 


a passionate love of the beauties of nature and commu- 
nicated it to his readers. He turned the Highlands from 
a wilderness at the thought of which culture shuddered into 
a place of universal pilgrimage. He was conscientious in 
his study of nature, going over the scene of Rokehy with 
book in hand and taking all the plants and shrubs, though 
he sometimes lapsed into a closet description, as in saying 
of the buttresses of Melrose in the moonlight that they 
seem framed alternately of ebon and ivory. Many of his 
pictures, such as that of Coriskin, are examples of pure 
landscape painting without the aid of historical accessories. 
In a nature so warm, feeling for color was sure not to be 
wanting; the best judges have pronounced that Scott 
possessed this gift in an eminent degree; and his picture 
of Edinburgh and the Camp of Marmion has been given 
as an example. He never thought of lending a soul in 
Nature like the author of Tintern Abbey, to whose genius 
he paid hearty homage across a wide gulf of difference. 
But he could give her life; and he could make her sympa- 
thize with the human drama, as in the lines at the end of 
the Convent Canto of Marmion and in the opening of Rokehy, 
which rivals the opening of Hamlet in the cold winter night 
on the lonely platform of Elsinore . — Goldwin Smith. 



MAP ILLUSTRATING 



MAP SHOWING THE PLACES MENTIONED IN “ IVANHOE 


lYANHOK 


CHAPTER I. 

Thus communed these ; while to their lowly dome, 

The full-fed swine return’d with evening home ; 

Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties, 

With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey, 

In that pleasant disrrict of merry England which is watered 
by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large for- 
est, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys 
which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncas- 
ter. The remains of this extensive wood are stiU to be seen at 
the noble seats of Wentworth, of Warncliffe Park, and around 
Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of 
Wantley ; here were fought many of the most desperate 
battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses ; and here also 
flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws, 
whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English song. 

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a 
period towards the end of the reign of Richard I., when his 
return from his long captivity had become an event rather 
wished than hoped for by his despairing subjects, who were in 
the meantime subjected to every species of subordinate oppres- 
sion. The nobles, whose power had become exorbitant during 
the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the 
Second had scarce reduced into some degree of subjection to 
the crown, had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost 
extent ; despising the feeble interference of the English Coun- 
cil of State, fortifying their castles, increasing the number of 

1 


5 

10 

15 

20 


2 


IVANHOE. 


their dependents, reducing all around them to a state of vas- 
salage, and striving by every means in their power, to place 
themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable 
him to make a figure in the national convulsions which 
5 appeared to be impending. 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as they 
were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English constitu- 
tion, were entitled to hold themselves independent of feudal 
tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, as was most 
10 generally the case, they placed themselves under the protec- 
tion of any of the petty kings in their vicinity, accepted of 
feudal offices in his household, or bound themselves, by mutual 
treaties of alliance and protection, to support him in his enter- 
prises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose ; but it 
15 must be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so 
dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of be- 
ing involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambi- 
tion of their protector might lead him to undertake. On the 
other hand, such and so multiplied were the means of vexation 
CO and oppression possessed by the great Barons, that they never 
wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue, 
even to the very edge of destruction, any of their less power- 
ful neighbors, who attempted to separate themselves from their 
authority, and to trust for their protection, during the dangers 
25 of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct, and to the laws 
of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny 
of the nobility, and the sufferings of the inferior classes, arose 
from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of 
30 Normandy. Four generations had not sufficed to blend the 
hostile blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, 
by common language and mutual interests, two hostile races, 
one of which still felt the elation of triumph, while the other 
groaned under all the consequences of defeat. The power had 
35 been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, 
by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, 
as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole 
race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or dis- 
inherited, with few or no exceptions; nor were the numbers 


IVANHOE. 


3 


great who possessed land in the country of their fathers, even 
as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior classes. The 
royal policy had long been to weaken, by every means, legal 
or illegal, the strength of a part of the population which was 
justly considered as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy 5 
to their victor. All the monarchs of the Norman race had 
shown the most marked predilection for their Norman sub- 
jects ; the laws of the chase, and many others, equally unknown 
to the milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, 
had been fixed upon the neck of the subjugated inhabitants, 10 
to add weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which they 
were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the great nobles, 
where the pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman- 
French was the only language employed ; in courts of law, the 
pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same tongue. 15 
In short, French was the language of honor, of chivalry, and 
even of justice, while the far more manly and expressive Anglo- 
Saxon was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who 
knew no other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse be- 
tween the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior beings 20 
by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the gradual for-' 
mation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French and the' 
Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves mutually' 
intelligible to each other; and from this necessity arose by 
degrees the structure of our present English language, in which 25 
the speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so 
happily blended together ; and which has since been so richly 
improved by importations from the classical languages, and 
from those spoken by the southern nations of Europe. 

This state of things I have thought it necessary to premise 30 
for the information of the general reader, who might be apt to 
forget, that, although no great historical events, such as war 
or insurrection, mark the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a 
separate people subsequent to the reign of William the ^econd ; 
yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and their con- 35 
querors, the recollection of what they had formerly been, and 
to what they were now reduced, continued, down to the reign 
of Edward the Third, to keep open the wounds which the Con- 
quest had inflicted, and to maintain a lihe of separation betwixt 


4 


IVANHOE. 


the descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished 
Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of 
that forest, which we have mentioned in the beginning of the 
5 chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short -stemmed, wide- 
branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march 
of the Roman soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick 
carpet of the most delicious greensward ; in some places they 
were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of 
10 various descriptions, so closely as totally to intercept the level 
beams of the sinking sun; in others they receded from each 
other, forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacy of 
which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination con- 
siders them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of sylvan solitude. 
15 Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discolored 
light, that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy 
trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant 
patches the portions of turf to which they made their way. A 
considerable open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed for- 
CO mei ly to have been dedicated to the rites of Hruidical supersti- 
tion; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to seem 
artificial, there still remained part of a circle of rough unhewn 
stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright ; the rest had 
been dislodged from their places, probably by the zeal of some 
•23 convert of Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near their 
former site, and others on the side of the hill. One large stone 
only had found its way to the bottom, and in stopping the 
course of a small brook, which glided smoothly round the foot 
of tne eminence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of mur- 
JO mur to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet. 

The human figures which completed this landscape, were in 
number two, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of that 
wild and rustic character, which belonged to the woodlands of 
the West-Riding of Yorkshire at that early period. The eldest 
S5 of these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His gar- 
ment was of the simplest form imaginable, being a close jacket 
with sleeves, composed of the tanned skin of some animal, on 
which the hair had been originally left, but which had been 
worn oft in so many places, that it would have been difficult 


IVANHOE. 


5 


to distinguish from the patches that remained, to what creature 
the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment reached from 
the throat to the knees, and served at once all the usual pur- 
poses of body-clothing; there was no wider opening at the 
collar, than was necessary to admit the passage of the head, 5 
from which it may be inferred, that it was put on by slipping 
it over the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern 
shirt, or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound with thongs made 
of boars’ hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin leather was 
twined artificially round the legs, and, ascending above the 10 
calf, left the knee& bare, like those of a Scottish Highlander. ^ 
To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, it was 
gathered at the middle by a broad leathern belt, secured by a 
brass buckle, to one side of which was attached a sort of scrip, 
and to the other a ram’s horn, accoutered with a mouthpiece, 15 
for the purpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuck one 
of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, 
with a buck’s-horn handle, which were fabricated in the neigh- 
borhood, and bore even at this early period the name of a 
Sheffield whittle. The man had no covering upon his head, 20 
which was only defended by his own thick hair, matted and 
twisted together, and scorched by the infiuence of the sun into 
a rusty dark-red color, forming a contrast with the overgrown 
beard upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber 
hue. One part of his dress only remains, but it is too remark- 25 ^ 
"able to be suppressed ; it was a brass ring, resembling a dog’s 
collar, but without any opening, and soldered fast round his 
neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet 
so tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the 
use of the file. On this singular gorget was engraved, in 30 
Saxon characters, an inscription of the following purport : — 

“ Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of 
Rotherwood.” 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth ’s occupation, was 
seated, upon one of the fallen Druid ical monuments, a person 35 
about ten years younger in appearance, and whose dress, 
though resembling his companion’s in form, was of better 
materials, and of a more fantastic appearance. His jacket 
had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon which there bad 


6 


IVANHOE. 


oeen some attempt to paint grotesque ornaments in different 
colors. To the jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely 
reached half-way down his thigh. It was of crimson cloth, 
though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he 
6 could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleas- 
ure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted with its 
want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He 
had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on his neck a 
collar of the same metal, bearing the inscription, “ Wamba, 
10 the son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of Eotherwood.” 
This personage had the same sort of sandals with his com- 
panion, but instead of the roll of leather thong, his legs were 
cased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was red and the other 
yellow. He was provided also with a cap, having around it 
15 more than one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, 
which jingled as he turned his head to one side or other ; and 
as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, the sound 
might be considered as incessant. Around the edge of this 
cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open 
20 work, resembling a coronet, while a prolonged bag arose from 
within it; and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned 
nightcap, or a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. 
It was to this part of the cap that the bells were attached ; 
which circumstance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and 
25 his own half-crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance, 
sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to the race of do- 
mestic clowns or jesters, maintained in the houses of the 
wealthy, to help away the tedium of those lingering hours 
which they were obliged to spend within doors. He bore, like 
30 his companion, a scrip, attached to his belt, but had neither 
horn nor knife, being probably considered as belonging to a 
class whom it is esteemed dangerous to intrust with edge- 
tools In place of these, he was equipped with a sword of 
lath, resembling that with which Harlequin operates his 
35 wonders upon the modern stage. 

The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce a 
stronger contrast than their look and demeanor. That of the 
serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen ; his aspect was bent on 
the ground with an air of deep dejection, which might be 


IVANHOE. 


7 


almost construed into apathy, had not the fire which occasion- 
ally sparkled in his red eye manifested that there slumbered, 
under the appearance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppres- 
sion, and a disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamha, 
on the other hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of 
vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture of 
repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting 
his own situation, and the appearance which he made. The 
dialogue which they maintained between them, was carried on 
in Anglo-Saxon, which, as we have said before, was univer- 
sally spoken by the inferior classes, excepting the Norman 
soldiers and the immediate personal dependents of the great 
feudal nobles. But to give their conversation in the original 
would convey but little information to the modern reader, for 
whose benefit we beg to offer the following translation : 

“The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal porkers!” 
said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, to 
collect together the scattered herd of swine, which, answering 
his call with notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste 
to remove themselves from the luxurious banquet of beech- 
mast and acorns on which they had fattened, or to forsake 
the marshy banks of the rivulet, where several of them, half 
plunged in mud, lay stretched at their ease, altogether regard- 
less of the voice of their keeper. “ The curse of St. Withold 
upon them and upon me ! ” said Gurth ; “if the two-legged 
wolf snap not up some .of them ere nightfall, I am no true 
man. Here, Fangs! Fangs! ” he ejaculated at the top of his 
voice to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a sort of lurcher, half 
mastiff, half greyhound, which ran limping about as if with 
the purpose of seconding his master in collecting the refractory 
grunters ; but which, in fact, from misapprehension of the swine- 
herd's signals, ignorance of his own duty, or malice prepense, 
only drove them hither and thither, and increased the evil 
which he seemed to design to remedy. “ A devil draw the 
teeth of him,” said Gurth, “and the mother of mischief con- 
found the Ranger of the forest, that cuts the foreclaws off our 
dogs, and makes them unfit for their trade! Wamba, up and 
help me an thou beest a man ; take a turn round the back o’ 
the hill to gain the wind on them ; and when thou’st got the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


8 


IVANHOE. 


weather-gage, thou mayst drive them before thee as gently as 
so many innocent lambs.” 

“ Truly,” said Wamha, without stirring from the spot, “I 
have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they are alto- 
5 gether of opinion, that to carry my gay garments through 
these sloughs, would be an act of unfriendship to my sovereign 
person and royal wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee 
to call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny, which, 
whether they meet with bands of traveling soldiers, or of out- 
10 laws, or of wandering pilgrims, can be little else than to be 
converted into Normans before morning, to thy no small ease 
and comfort.” 

“ The swine turn Normans to my comfort! ” quoth Gurth; 
“expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is too dull, and 
15 my mind too vexed, to read riddles.” 

“ Why, how call you those grunting brutes running about 
on their four legs? ” demanded Wamba. 

“Swine, fool, swine,” said the herd; “every fool knows 
that.” 

20 “ And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “but how call 

you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and quartered, and 
hung up by the heels, like a traitor? ” 

“ Pork,” answered the swineherd. 

“ I am very glad every fool knows that, too,” said W^amba; 
25 “ and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; and so when the 
brute lives, and is in the charge of a Saxon slave, she goes 
by her Saxon name; but becomes a Norman, and is called 
pork, when she is carried to the Castle-hall to feast among 
the nobles. What dost thou think of this, friend Gurth, 
30 ha ? ” 

“ It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however it got 
into thy fool’s pate.” 

“Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba, in the same tone; 
“there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his Saxon epi- 
35thet, while he is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such 
as thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he 
arrives before the worshipful jaws that are destined to con- 
sume him. Mynheer Calf, too, becomes Monsieur de Veau in 
^.he like manner; he is Saxon when he requires tendance, and 


lYANHOE. 9 

takes a iSorman name when he becomes matter of enjoy- 
ment.” 

“ By St. Dunstan,” answered Gurth, “ thou speakest but sad 
truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, and that 
appears to have been reserved with much hesitation, solely 
for the purpose of enabling us to endure the tasks they lay 
upon our shoulders. The finest and the fattest is for their 
board ; the loveliest is for their couch ; the best and bravest 
supply their foreign masters with soldiers, and whiten distant 
lands with their bones, leaving few here who have either will 
or the power to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing 
on our Master Cedric ; he hath done the work of a man in 
standing in the gap ; but Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf is coming 
down to this country in person, and we shall soon see how 
little Cedric’s trouble will avail him. — Here, here,” he ex- 
claimed again, raising his voice. ‘‘So ho! so ho! well done, 
Fangs ! thou hast them ^11 before thee now, and bring’st them 
on bravely, lad.” 

“ Gurth,” said the Jester, “ I know thou thinkest me a fool, 
or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into my 
mouth. One word to Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, or Philip de 
Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman, 
— and thou art but a castaway swineherd, — thou wouldst waver 
on one of these trees as a terror to all evil speakers against 
dignities.” 

“Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage ? ” 

“Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that were the 
trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help himself. — 
But soft, whom have we here ? ” he said, listening to the tramp- 
ling of several horses which became then audible. 

“Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now got 
his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was driving 
them down one of the long dim vistas which we have en- 
deavored to describe. 

“ Nay, but I must see the riders,” answered Wamba; “ per- 
haps they are come from Fairyland with a message from King 
Oberon.” 

“ A murrain take thee,” rejoined the swineherd ; “ wilt thou 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


10 


lYANHOE. 


talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder and 
lightning is raging within a few miles of us ? Hark, how the 
thunder rumbles! and for summer rain, I never saw such broad 
downright 'flat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too, not- 
5 withstanding the calm weather, sob and creak with their great 
boughs as if announcing a tempest. Thou canst play the ra- 
tional if thou wilt; credit me for once, and let us home ere the 
storm begins to rage, for the night will be fearful.” 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and accom- 
10 panied his companion, who began his journey after catching 
up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass beside him. 
This second Eumseus strode hastily down the forest glade, 
driving before him, with the assistance of Fangs, the whole 
herd of his inharmonious charge. 


CHAPTER II. 

A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 

An outrider that loved venerie ; 

A manly man, to be an Abbot able. 

Full many a dainty horse had he in stable: 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear, 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell. 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

15 Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chiding of 
his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet continuing to 
approach, Wamba could not be prevented from lingering occa- 
sionally on the road, upon every pretense which occurred ; now 
catching from the hazel a cluster of half -ripe nuts, and now 
20 turning his head to leer after a cottage maiden who crossed 
their path. The horsemen, therefore, soon overtook them on 
the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two who 
rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable importance, 
25 and the others their attendants. It was not difficult to ascer- 
tain the condition and character of one of these personages. 
He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank ; his dress was 


IVANHOE. 


li 


that of a Cistercian Monk, but composed of materials much 
finer than those which the rule of that order admitted. His 
mantle and hood were of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in 
ample, and not ungraceful folds, around a handsome, though 
somewhat corpulent person. His countenance bore as little 5 
the marks of self-denial, as his habit indicated contempt of 
worldly splendor. His features might have been called good, 
had there not lurked under the penthouse of his eye, that sly 
epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary. 

In other respects, his profession and situation had taught him 10 
a ready command over his countenance, which he could con- 
tract at pleasure into sol^ninity, although its natural expres- 
sion was that of good-humored social indulgence. In defiance 
of conventual rules, and the edicts of popes and councils, the 
sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up with rich 15 
furs, his mantle secured at the throat with a golden clasp, and 
the whole dress proper to his order as much refined upon and 
ornamented, as that of a Quaker beauty of the present day, who, 
while she retains the garb and costume of her sect, continues 
to give to its simplicity, by the choice of materials and the 20 
mode of disposing them, a certain air of coquettish attraction, 
savoring but too much of the vanities of the world. 

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling mule, 
whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose bridle, ac- 
cording to the fashion of the day, was ornamented with silver 25 
bells. In his seat he had nothing of the awkwardness of the 
convent, but displayed the easy and habitual grace of a well- 
trained horseman. Indeed, it seemed that so humble a con- 
veyance as a mule, in however good case, and however well 
broken to a pleasant and accommodating amble, was only used 30 
by the gallant monk for traveling on the road. A lay brother, 
one of those who followed in the train, had, for his use on other 
occasions, one of the most handsome Spanish jennets ever bred 
at Andalusia, which merchants used at that time to import, 
with great trouble and risk, for the use of persons of wealth 35 
and distinction. The saddle and housings of this superb pal- 
frey were covered by a long foot-cloth, which reached nearly 
to the ground, and on which were richly embroidered miters, 
crosses, and other ecclesiastical emblems. Another lay brother 


12 


IVANHOE. 


led a Sumpter mule, loaded probably with his superior’s bag- 
gage ; and two monks of his own order, of inferior station, rode 
together in the rear, laughing and conversing with each other, 
without taking much notice of the other members of the 
5 cavalcade. 

The companion of the church dignitary was a man past 
forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic figure, which 
long fatigue and constant exercise seemed to have left none of 
the softer part of the human form, having reduced the wdiole 
10 to brawn, bones, and sinews, which had sustained a thousand 
toils, and were ready to dare a thousand more. His head was 
covered with a scarlet cap, faced with fur — of that kind which 
the French call mortier^ from its resemblance to the shape of 
an inverted mortar. His countenance was therefore fully dis- 
15 played, and its expression was calculated to impress a degree 
of awe, if not of fear, upon strangers. High features, natu- 
rally strong and powerfully expressive, had been burnt almost 
into Negro blackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun, 
and might, in their ordinary state, be said to slumber after the 
20 storm of passion had passed away ; but the projection of the 
veins of the forehead, the readiness with which the upper lip 
and its thick black mustaches quivered upon the slightest 
emotion, plainly intimated that the tempest might be again 
and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, dark eyes told in 
25 every glance a history of difficulties subdued, and dangers 
dared, and seemed to challenge opposition to his wishes, for 
the pleasure of sweeping it from his road by a determined ex- 
ertion of courage and of will ; a deep scar on his brow gave 
additional sternness to his countenance, and a sinister expres- 
30 sion to one of his eyes, which had been slightly injured on the 
same occasion, and of which the vision, though perfect, was 
in a slight and partial degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of his com- 
panion in shape, being a long monastic mantle ; but the color, 
85 being scarlet, showed that he did not belong to any of the four 
regular orders of monks. On the right shoulder of the mantle 
there was cut, in white cloth, a cross of a peculiar form. This 
upper robe concealed what at first view seemed rather incon- 
sistent with its form, a shirt, namely, of linked mail, with 


IVANHOE. 


13 

sleeves and gloves of the same, curiously plaited and inter- 
woven, as flexible to the body as those which are now wrought 
in the stocking-loom, out of less obdurate materials. The fore- 
part of his thighs, where the folds of his mantle permitted 
them to be seen, were also covered with linked mail; the knees 
and feet were defended by splints, or thin plates of steel, in- 
geniously jointed upon each other; and mail hose, reaching 
from the ankle to the knee, effectually protected the legs, and 
completed the rider’s defensive armor. In his girdle he wore 
a long and double-edged dagger, which was the only offensive 
weapon about his person. 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong hackney 
for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, which a squire led 
behind, fully accoutered for battle, with a chamfron or plaited 
head-piece upon his head, having a short spike projecting from 
the front. On one side of the saddle hung a short battle-ax, 
richly inlaid with Damascene carving ; on the other the rider’s 
plumed head-piece and hood of mail, with a long two-handed 
sword, used by the chivalry of the period. A second squire held 
aloft his master’s lance, from the extremity of which fluttered 
a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross of the same 
form with that embroidered upon his cloak. He also carried his 
small triangular shield, broad enough at the top to protect the 
breast, and from thence diminishing to a point. It was covered 
with a scarlet cloth, which prevented the device from being 
seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, whose 
dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental form of their 
garments, showed them to be natives of some distant Eastern 
country. The whole appearance of this warrior and his retinue 
was wild and outlandish ; the dress of his squires was gorgeous, 
and his Eastern attendants wore silver collars round their 
throats, and bracelets of the same metal upon their swarthy 
arms and legs, of which the former were naked from the elbow, 
and the latter from mid-leg to an kle. Silk and embroidery distin- 
guished their dresses, and marked the wealth and importance 
of their master ; forming, at the samo time, a striking contrast 
with the martial simplicity of his own attire. They were armed 
with crooked sabers, having the hilt and baldric inlaid with 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


14 


IVANHOE. 


gold, and matched with Turkish daggers of yet more costly 
workmanship. Each of them bore at his saddle-bow a bundle 
of darts or javelins, about four feet in length, having sharp 
steel heads, a weapon much in use among the Saracens, and of 
5 which the memory is yet preserved in the martial exercise 
called El Jerrid, still practiced in the Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as foreign 
as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, and consequently 
of Arabian descent ; and their fine slender limbs, small fetlocks, 
10 thin manes, and easy springy motion, formed a marked con- 
trast with the large- jointed heavy horses, of which the race 
was cultivated in Flanders and in Normandy, for mounting 
the men-at-arms of the period in all the panoply of plate and 
mail; and which, placed by the side of those Eastern coursers, 
15 might have passed for a personification of substance and of 
shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only attracted 
the curiosity of Wamba, hut excited even that of his less volatile 
companion. The monk he instantly knew to be the Prior of 
20 Jorvaulx Abbey, well known for many miles around as a lover 
of the chase, of the banquet, and, if fame did him not wrong, 
of other worldly pleasures still more inconsistent with his mo- 
nastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the con- 
25 duct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that the Prior 
Aymer maintained a fair character in the neighborhood of his 
abbey. His free and jovial temper, and the readiness with 
which he granted absolution from all ordinary delinquencies, 
rendered him a favorite among the nobility and principal gen- 
30 try, to several of whom he was allied by birth, being of a dis- 
tinguished Norman family. The ladies, in particular, were not 
disposed to scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a 
professed admirer of their sex, and who possessed many means 
of dispelling the ennui which was too apt to intrude upon the 
35 halls and bowers of an ancient feudal castle. The Prior min- 
gled in the sports of the field with more than due eagerness, and 
was allowed to possess the best-trained hawks and the fleetest 
greyhounds in the North Riding; circumstances which strongly 
recommended him to the youthful gentry. With the old, he 


IVANHOE. 


15 


had another part to play, which, when needful, he could sus- 
tain with great decorum. His knowledge of books, however 
superficial, was sufficient to impress upon their ignorance 
respect for his supposed learning; and the gravity of his 
deportment and language, with the high tone which he exerted 1 
in setting forth the authority of the church and of the priest- 
hood, impressed them no less with an opinion of his sanctity. 
Even the common people, the severest critics of the conduct 
of their betters, had commiseration with the follies of Prior 
Aymer. He was generous ; and charity, as it is well known, 13 
covereth a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in whicn 
it is said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of the monastery, 
of which a large part was at his disposal, while they gave him 
the means of supplying his own very considerable expenses, 
afforded also those largesses which he bestowed among the 15 
peasantry, and with which he frequently relieved the distresses 
of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or - 
remained long at the banquet, — if Prior Aymer was seen, at 
the early peep of dawn, to enter the postern of the abbey, as 
he glided home from some rendezvous which had occupied the 20 
hours of darkness, men only shrugged up their shoulders, and 
reconciled themselves to his irregularities, by recollecting that 
the same were practiced by many of his brethren who had no 
redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone for them. Prior 
Aymer, therefore, and his character, were well known to our 25 
Saxon serfs, who made their rude obeisance, and received his 
“ in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his attend- 
ants, arrested their attention and excited their wonder, and 
they could scarcely attend to the Prior of Jorvaulx’ question, 30 
when he demanded if they knew of any place of harborage in 
the vicinity ; so much were they surprised at the half monas- 
tic, half military appearance of the swarthy stranger, and at 
the uncouth dress and arms of his Eastern attendants. It is 
probable, too, that the language in which the benediction was 35 
conferred, and the information asked, sounded ungracious, 
though not probably unintelligible, in the ears of the Saxon 
peasants. 

“ I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, raising his 


16 


IVANHOE. 


voice, and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in which 
the Norman and Saxon races conversed with each other, “if 
there be in this neighborhood any good man, who, for the love 
of God, and devotion to Mother Church, will give two of her 
5 humblest servants, with their train, a night’s hospitality and 
refreshment ? ” 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, which 
formed a strong contrast to the modest terms which he thought 
it proper to employ. 

10 ‘ ‘ Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church ! ” repeated 

Wamba to himself, — but, fool as he was, taking care not to 
make his observation audible; “ I should like to see her senes- 
chals, her chief butlers, and her other principal domestics ! ” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, he 
15 raised his eyes, and replied to the question which had been 
put. 

“If the reverend fathers,” he said, “loved good cheer and 
soft lodging, few miles of riding would carry them to the 
Priory of Brinxworth, where their quality could not but secure 
20 them the most honorable reception ; or if they preferred spend- 
ing a penitential evening; they might turn down yonder wild 
glade, which would bring them to the hermitage of Copman- 
hurst, where a pious anchoret would make them sharers for 
the night of the shelter of his roof and the benefit of his 
25 prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“ Mine honest friend,” said he, “ if the jangling of thy bells 
had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst know Cleri- 
cus clericum non decimat ; that is to say, we churchmen do 
30 not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but rather require that of 
the laity ; giving them thus an opportunity to serve God in 
honoring and relieving his appointed servants.” 

“ It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but an ass, am, 
nevertheless, honored to bear the bells as well as your rever- 
35 ence’s mule ; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the charity 
of Mother Church and her servants might be said, with other 
charity, to begin at home.” 

“A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed rider, 
breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice, “ and 


IVANHOE. 


17 


tell us, if thou canst, the road to How call’d you your 

Franklin, Prior Aymer ? ” 

‘/Cedric,” answered the Prior; “Cedric the Saxon.— Tell 
me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can you show 
us the road ? ” 

“ The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, who ^ 
broke silence for the first time, “ and the family of Cedric re- 
tire early to rest.” 

“ Tush, tell not me, fellow ! ” said the military rider ; “ ’tis 
easy for them to arise and supply the wants of travelers such 
as we are, who will not stoop to beg the hospitality which we 
have a right to command.” 

“ I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “ if I should show the 
way to my master’s house, to those who demand as a right, the 
shelter which most are fain to ask as a favor.” 

“ Do you dispute with me, slave ! ” said the soldier ; and, 
setting spurs to his horse, he caused him to make a demivolte 
across the path, raising at the same time the riding rod which 
he held in his hand, with a purpose of chastising what he con- 
sidered as the insolence of the peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and 
with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid his hand on the haft 
of his knife ; but the interference of Prior Aymer, who pushed 
his mule betwixt his companion and the swineherd, prevented 
the meditated violence. 


“Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think you 
are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks and 
infidel Saracens ; we islanders love not blows, save those of 
holy Church, who chasteneth whom she loveth. — Tell me, 
good fellow,” said he to Waniba, and seconded his speech by 
a small piece of silver coin, “ the way to Cedric the Saxon’s ; 
you cannot be ignorant of it, and it is your duty to direct the 
wanderer even when his character is less sanctified than ours. ” 
“In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “the 
Saracen head of your right reverend companion has frightened 
out of mine the way home— I am not sure I shall get there to- 
night myself.” 

Tush, said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if thou wilt. 
This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fightiner 


25 


30 


35 


18 


IVANHOE. 


among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepulcher; 
he is of the order of Knights Templars, whom you may have 
heard of; he is half a monk, half a soldier.” 

“ If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he should not 
5 be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets upon the 
road, even if they should be in no hurry to answer questions 
that no way concern them.” 

“I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “ on condition thou 
wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

10 “Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences must 
hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which 
scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground ; then take the 
path to the left, for there are four which meet at Sunken Cross, 
and I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before the 
15 storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the cavalcade, 
setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish to 
reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm. As their 
horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his companion, “ If they 
20 follow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers will hardly 
reach Rotherwood this night.” 

“ No,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may reach Shef- 
field if they have good luck, and that is as fit a place for them. 
I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the dog where the 
25 deer lies, if I have no mind he should chase him.” 

“Thou art right,” said Gurth; “ it were ill that Aymer saw 
the Lady Rowena ; and it were worse, it may be, for Cedric to 
quarrel, as is most likely he would, with this military monk. 
But, like good servants, let us hear and see, and say noth- 
30 ing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bondsmen far 
behind them, and who maintained the following conversation 
in the Norman-French language, usually employed by the 
superior classes, with the exception of the few who were still 
35 inclined to boast their Saxon descent. 

“ What mean these fellows by their capricious insolence ?” 
said the Templar to the Cistercian, “ and why did you prevent 
me from chastising it ? ” 

“Marry, brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “touching the 


IVANHOE. 


19 


one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason for a fool 
speaking according to his folly ; and the other churl is of that 
savage, fierce, intractable race, ‘Some of whom, as I have often 
told you, are still to be found among the descendants of the 
conquered Saxons, and whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, 
by all means in their power, their aversion to their conquer- 
ors.” 

‘‘I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian ; “I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. Our 
Turkish captives are as fierce and intractable as Odin himself 
could have been ; yet two months in my household under the 
management of my master of the slaves, has made them 
humble, submissive, serviceable, and observant of your will. 
Marry, sir, you must beware of the poison and the dagger; for 
they use either with free will when you give them the slightest 
opportunity.” 

Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, ‘‘ every land has its own 
manners and fashions; and, besides that beating this fellow 
could procure us no information respecting the road to Cedric’s 
house, it would have been sure to have established a quarrel 
betwixt you and him had we found our way thither. Eemem- 
ber what I told you; this wealthy Franklin is proud, fierce, 
jealous, and irritable; a withstander of the nobility, and even 
of his neighbors, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, and Philip Malvoi- 
sin, who are no babes to strive with. He stands up so sternly 
for the privileges of his race, and is so proud of his uninter- 
rupted descent from Here ward, a renowned champion of the 
Heptarchy, that he is universally called Cedric the Saxon; and 
makes a boast of his belonging to a people from whom many 
^others endeavor to hide their descent, lest they should en- 
counter a share of the vae victis^ or severities imposed upon 
the vanquished.” 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “you are a man of gal- 
lantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert as a 
troubadour in all matters concerning the arrets of love ; but I 
shall expect much beauty in this celebrated Eowena, to coun- 
ter-balance the self-denial and forbearance which I must exert, 
if I am to court the favor of such a seditious churl as you have 
described her father Cedric.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


20 


lYANHOE. 


“ Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “and is but of 
remote relation; she is descended from higher blood than even 
he pretends to, and is but distantly connected with him by 
birth. Her guardian, however, he is, self-constituted as I be- 
5 lieve ; but his ward is as dear to him as if she were his own 
child. Of her beauty you shall soon be judge; and if the 
purity of her complexion, and the majestic, yet soft expression 
of a mild blue eye, do not chase from your memory the black- 
tressed girls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s 
10 paradise, I am an infidel, and no true son of the church.” 

“ Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know our 
wager ? ” 

“ My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “against ten butts of 
15 Chian wine; — they are mine as securely as if they were al- 
ready in the convent vaults, under the key of old Dennis the 
cellarer.” 

“ And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar, “and I 
am only to be convicted on my own admission, that I have 
20 seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost was a twelve- 
month. Pan it not so ?— Prior, your collar is in danger; I will 
wear it over my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “and wear it as ye will; I 
will trust your giving true response, on your word as a knight 
25 and as a churchman. Yet, brother, take my advice, and file 
your tongue to a little more courtesy than your habits of pre- 
dominating over infidel captives and Eastern bondsmen have 
.accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if offended,— and he is no 
way slack in taking offense, — is a man who, without respect 
‘JO to your knighthood, my high office, or the sanctity of either, 
would clear his house of us, and send us to lodge with the 
larks, though the hour were midnight. And be careful how 
you look on Rowena, whom he cherishes with the most jeal- 
ous care; an he take the least alarm in that quarter we are but 
35 lost men. It is said he banished his only son from his family 
for lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards this beauty, 
who may be worshiped, it seems, at a distance, but is not to 
be approached with other thoughts than such as we bring to 
the shrine of the Blessed Virgin.” 


IVANHOE. 


21 


“Well, you have said enough,” answered the .Templar ; “I 
will for a night put on the needful restraint, and deport me as 
meekly as a maiden ; but as for the fear of his expelling us by 
violence, myself and squires, with Hamet and Abdalla, will 
warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt not that we shall 
be strong enough to make good our quarters.” 

“ We must not let it come so far,” answered the Prior ; 
“ but here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is so dark 
that we can hardly see which of the roads we are to follow. 
He bid us turn, I think, to the left.” 

“To the right,” said Brian, “to the best of my remem- 
brance.” 

“To the left, certainly, the left; I remember his pointing 
with his wooden sword.” 

“ Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so pointed 
across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, as is 
usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed to, but 
they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s directions. 
At length Brian remarked, what had at first escaped him in 
the twilight. “ Here is some one either asleep, or lying dead 
at the foot of this cross— Hugo, stir him with the but-end of 
thy lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaiming 
in good French, “Whosoever thou art, it is discourteous in 
you to disturb my thoughts.” 

“ We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, “the road to 
Kotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 

“I myself am bound thither,” replied the stranger; “and 
if I had a horse, I would be your guide, for the way is some- 
what intricate, though perfectly well known to me.” 

“Thoushalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,” 
said the Prior, “ if thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in safety.” 

And he caused one of his attendants to mount his own led 
horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden to the 
stranger, who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that which 
Wamba had recommended, for the purpose of misleading 
them. The path soon led deeper into the woodland, and 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


22 


IVANHOE. 


crossed more than one brook, the approach to which was ren- 
dered perilous by the marshes through which it flowed; but 
the stranger seemed to know, as if by instinct, the soundest 
ground and the safest points of passage; and by dint of caution 
5 and attention, brought the party safely into a wider avenue 
than any they had yet seen; and, pointing to a large, low, 
irregular building at the upper extremity, he said to the Prior, 
“Yonder is Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.” 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves were 
10 none of the strongest, and who had suffered such agitation and 
alarm in the course of passing through the dangerous bogs, 
that he had not yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a single 
question. Finding himself now at his ease and near shelter, 
his curiosity began to awake, and he demanded of the guide 
15 who and what he was. 

“A Palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,” was the 
answer. 

“You had better have tarried there to flght for the recovery 
of the Holy Sepulcher,” said the Templar. 

20 “True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, to 
whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly famil- 
iar; “ but when those who are under oath to recover the holy 
city, are found traveling at such a distance from the scene of 
their duties, can you wonder that a peaceful peasant like mo 
25 should decline the task which they have abandoned ? ” 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but was in- 
terrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his astonishment 
that their guide, after such long absence, should be so per- 
fectly acquainted with the passes of the forest. 

30 “I was born a native of these parts,” answered their guide, 
and as he made the reply they stood before the mansion of 
Cedric; — a low, irregular building, containing several court- 
yards or inclosures, extending over a considerable space of 
ground, and which, though its size argued the inhabitant to 
35 be a person of wealth, differed entirely from the tall, turreted, 
and castellated buildings in which the Norman nobility resided, 
and which had become the universal style of architecture 
throughout England. 

Rotherwood was not, however, without defenses; nohabita- 


IVANHOE. 


23 


tion, in that disturbed period, could have been so, without the 
risk of being plundered and burnt before the next morning. 
A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn round the whole building, 
and filled with water from a neighboring stream. A double 
stockade, or palisade, composed of pointed beams, which the 
adjacent forest supplied, defended the outer and inner bank 
of the trench. There was an entrance from the west through 
the outer stockade, which communicated by a drawbridge, 
with a similar opening in the interior defenses. Some pre- 
cautions had been taken to place those entrances under the 
protection of projecting angles, by which they might be flanked 
in case of need by archers or slingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn loudly ; 
for the rain, which had long threatened, began now to descend 
with great violence. 


CHAPTER III. 

Then (sad relief !) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong. 

And yellow-hair’ d, the blue-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty, 

In a hall, the height of which was greatly disproportioned to 
its extreme length and width, a long oaken table, formed of 
planks rough-hewn from the forest, and which had scarcely 
received any polish, stood ready prepared for the evening meal 
of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed of beams and rafters, 
had nothing to divide the apartment from the sky excepting 
the planking and thatch ; there was a huge fireplace at either 
end of the hall, but, as the chimneys were constructed in a very 
clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke found its way 
into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent. The con- 
stant vapor which this occasioned, had polished the rafters 
and beams of the low-browed hall, by incrusting them with a 
black varnish of soot. On the sides of the apartment hung 
implements of war and of the chase, and there were at each 
corner folding doors, which gave access to other parts of the 
extensive building. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


24 


IVANHOE. 


The other appointments of the mansion partook of the rude 
simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued himself 
upon maintaining. The floor was composed of earth mixed 
with lime, trodden into a hard substance, such as is often em- 
5 ployed in flooring our modern barns. For about one quarter 
of the length of the apartment, the floor was raised by a step, 
and this space, which was called the dais, was occupied only by 
the principal members of the family, and visitors of distinction. 
For this purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was 
10 placed transversely across the platform, from the middle of 
which ran the longer and lower board, at which the domestics 
and inf erior persons fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. 
The whole resembled the form of the letter T, or some of those 
ancient dinner-tables, which, arranged on the same principles, 
15 may be still seen in the antique Colleges of Oxford or Cam- 
bridge. Massive chairs and settles of carved oak were placed 
upon the dais, and over these seats and the more elevated table 
was fastened a canopy of cloth, which served in some degree 
to protect the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished 
20 station from the weather, and especially from the rain, which 
in some places found its way through the ill-constructed 
roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais 
extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, and upon 
25 the floor there was a carpet, both of which were adorned with 
some attempts at tapestry, or embroidery, executed with brill- 
iant or rather gaudy coloring. Over the lower range of table, 
the roof, as we have noticed, had no covering; the rough plas- 
tered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen floor was un- 
30 carpeted; the board was uncovered by a cloth, and rude 
massive benches supplied the place of chairs. 

In the center of the upper table were placed two chairs more 
elevated than the rest, for the master and mistress of the family, 
who presided over the scene of hospitality, and from doing 
35 so derived their Saxon title of honor, which signifles “the 
Dividers of Bread.” 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction was 
peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present occupied 


IVANHOE. 


2o 

by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank a thane, or, as 
the Normans called him, a Franklin, felt, at the delay of his 
evening meal, an irritable impatience, which might have be- 
come an alderman, whether of ancient or modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this proprietor, 5 
that he was of a frank, but hasty and choleric temper. He was 
not above the middle stature, but broad-shouldered, long-armed, 
and powerfully made, like one accustomed to endure the fatigue 
of war or of the chase ; his face was broad, with large blue eyes, 
open and frank features, fine teeth, and a well-formed head, 10 
altogether expressive of that sort of good-humor which often 
lodges with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy 
there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in asserting 
rights which were constantly liable to invasion ; and the prompt, 
fiery, and resolute disposition of the man, had been kept con- 15 
stantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation. 
His long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of his head 
and upon his brow, and combed down on each side to the length 
of his shoulders ; it had but little tendency to gray, although 
Cedric was approaching to his sixtieth year. 20 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat 
and cuffs ^dth what was called minever; a kind of fur inferior 
in quality to ermine, and formed, it is believed, of the skin of 
the gray squirrel. This doublet hung unbuttoned over a close 
dress of scarlet w^hich sate tight to his body ; he had breeches 25 
of the same, but they did not reach below the lower part of 
the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His feet had sandals of 
the same fashion with the peasants, but of finer materials, and 
secured in the front with golden clasps. He had bracelets of 
gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of the same precious CO 
metal around his neck. About his waist he wore a richly- 
studded belt, in w’hich was stuck a short, straight, two-edged 
sword, with a sharp point, so disposed as to hang almost per- 
pendicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung a scarlet 
cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of the same materials 35 
richly embroidered, which completed the dress of the opulent 
landholder when he chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, 
with a broad and bright steel head, also reclined against the 
back of his chair, which serv^^^ him, when he walked abroad, 


26 


IVANHOE. 


for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as chance might re- 
quire. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various proportions be- 
twixt the richness of their master’s, and the coarse and simple 
6 attire of G-urth the swineherd, watched the looks and waited 
the commands of the Saxon dignitary. Two or three servants 
of a superior order stood behind their master upon the dais ; 
the rest occupied the lower part of the hall. Other attendants 
there were of a different description; two or three large and 
10 shaggy greyhounds, such as were then employed in hunting 
the stag and wolf; as many slow-hounds of a large bony 
breed, with thick necks, large heads, and long ears; and one 
or two of the smaller dogs, now called terriers, which waited 
with impatience the arrival of the supper; but, with the saga- 
15 cious knowledge of physiognomy peculiar to their race, for- 
bore to intrude upon the moody silence of their master, 
apprehensive probably of a small white truncheon which lay 
by Cedric’s trencher, for the purpose of repelling the advances 
of his four-legged dependents. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, 
20 with the liberty of an indulged favorite, had planted himself 
close by the chair of state, and occasionally ventured to solicit 
notice by putting his large, hairy head upon his master’s knee, 
or pushing his nose into his hand. Even he was repelled by 
the stern command, “Down, Balder, down! I am not in 
25the humor for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very placid 
state of mind. The Lady Eowena, who had been absent to 
attend an evening mass at a distant church, had but just 
returned, and was changing her garments, which had been 
SOwetted by the storm. There were as yet no tidings of Gurth 
and his charge, which should long since have been driven 
home from the forest; and such was the insecurity of the 
period, as to render it probable that the delay might be ex- 
plained by some depredation of the outlaws, with whom the 
35 adjacent forest abounded, or by the violence of some neigh- 
boring baron, whose consciousness of strength made him 
equally negligent of the laws of property. The matter' was of 
consequence, for great part of the domestic wealth of the 
:::axon proprietors consisted in numerous herds of swine, espe- 


IVANHOE. 27 

cially in forest land, where those animals easily found their 
food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was im- 
patient for the presence of his favorite clown Wamha, whose 
jests, such as they were, served for a sort of seasoning to his 5 
evening meal, and to the deep draughts of ale and wine with 
which he was in the habit of accompanying it. Add to all 
this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usual supper hour 
was long past, a cause of irritation common to country 
squires, both in ancient and modern times. His displeasure 10 
was expressed in broken sentences, partly muttered to him- 
self, partly addressed to the domestics who stood around ; and 
particularly to his cup-bearer, who offered him from time to 
time, as a sedative, a silver goblet filled with wine — “Why 
tarries the Lady Rowena ? ” 15 

“She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favorite lady’s maid 
usually answers the master of a modern family ; ‘ ‘ you would 
not wish her to sit down to the banquet in her hood and 
kirtle ? and no lady within the shire can be quicker in array- 20 
ing herself than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescent 
umph ! on the part of the Saxon, with the addition, “ I wish 
her devotion may choose fair weather for the next visit to St. 
John’s Kirk; — but what, in the name of ten devils,” continued 25 
he, turning to the cup-bearer, and raising his voice, as if happy 
to have found a channel into which he might divert his indig- 
nation without fear or control — “what, in the name of ten 
devils, keeps Gurth so long a-field? I suppose we shall have 
an evil account of the herd; he was wont to be a faithful and 
cautious drudge, and I had destined him for something better; 
perchance I might even have made him one of my warders.” 

Oswald the cup-bearer modestly suggested, “that it was 
scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew ; ” an ill-chosen 
apology, since it turned upon a topic so harsh to Saxon ears. 35 
“ The foul fiend,” exclaimed Cedric, “ take the curfew-bell, 
and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was devised, and the 
heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue to a Saxon 
ear! The curfew!” he added, pausing, “ay, the curfew; 


26 


IVANHOE. 


which compels true men to extinguish their lights, that thieves 
and robbers may work their deeds in darkness! — Ay, the cur- 
few; — Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip de Malvodsin know 
the use of the curfew as well as William the Bastard himself, 
5 or e’er a Norman adventurer that fought at Hastings. I shall 
hear, I guess, that my property has been swept off to save 
from starving the hungry banditti, whom they cannot support 
but by theft and robbery. My faithful slave is murdered, and 
my goods are taken for a prey— and Wamba — where is Wamba? 
2Q Said not some one he had gone forth with Gurth ? 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

“Ay? why this is better and better! he is carried off too, 
the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. Fools are we all 
indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects for their scorn and 
laughter, than if we were born with but half our wits. But I 
will be avenged,” he added, starting from his chair in impa- 
tience at the supposed injury, and catching hold of his boar- 
spear; “ I will go with my complaint to the great council; I 
have friends, I have followers — man to man will I appeal the 
2 q Norman to the lists; let him come in his plate and his mail, 
and all that can render cowardice bold ; I have sent such a 
javelin as this through a stronger fence than three of their war 
shields! — Haply they think me old; but they shall find, alone 
and childless as I am, the blood of Here ward is in the veins of* 
25 Cedric. — Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred! ” he exclaimed in a lower tone, 
“couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonable passion, thy 
father had not been left in his age like the solitary oak, that 
throws out its shattered and unprotected branches against the 
full sweep of the tempest! ” The reflection seemed to conjure 
30 into sadness his irritated feelings. Eeplacing his javelin, he 
resumed his seat, bent his looks downward, and appeared to 
be absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by the 
blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous yells 
35 and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some twenty or 
thirty which were quartered in other parts of the building. It 
cost some exercise of the white truncheon, well seconded by 
the exertions of the domestics, to silence this canine clamor. 

“ To the gate, knaves! ” said the Saxon, hastily, as soon as 


IVANHOE. 


29 


the tumult was so much appeased that the dependents could 
hear his voice. “ See what tidings that horn tells us of — to 
announce, I ween, some hership and robbery which has been 
done upon my lands.” 

Returning in less than three minutes, a warder announced, 

that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the good knight Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the valiant and venerable 
order of Knights Templars, with a small retinue, requested 
hospitality and lodging for the night, being on their way to a 
tournament which was to be held not far from Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche, on the second day from the present.” 

“Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert?” — 
muttered Cedric; “Normans both; — but Norman or Saxon, 
the hospitality of Rotherwood must not be impeached ; they 
are welcome, since they have chosen to halt — more welcome 
would they have been to have ridden further on their way. — 
But it were unworthy to murmur for a night’s lodging and a 
night’s food ; in the quality of guests, at least, even Normans 
must suppress their insolence. — Go, Hundebert,” he added, to 
a sort of major-domo who stood behind him with a white wand ; 
“take six of the attendants, and introduce the strangers to 
the guests’ lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and 
see their train lack nothing. Let them have change of vest- 
ments if they require it, and fire, and water to wash, and wine 
and ale ; and bid the cooks add what they hastily can to our 
evening meal; and let it be put on the board when those stran- 
gers are ready to share it. Say to them, Hundebert, that 
Cedric would himself bid them welcome, but he is under a vow 
never to step more than three steps from the dais of his own 
hall to meet any who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty. 
Begone ! see them carefully tended ; let them not say in their 
pride, the Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his 
avarice.” 

The major-domo departed with several attendants, to exe- 
cute his master’s commands. “ The Prior Aymer! ” repeated 
Cedric, looking to Osvrald, “the brother, if I mistake not, of 
Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middleham? ” 

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. ‘ ‘ His brother sits 
in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race, the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


30 


IVANHOE. 


race of Ulfgar of Middleham ; but what Norman lord doth not 
the same ? This Prior is, they say, a free and jovial priest, 
who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better than bell 
and book. Good ; let him come, he shaP be welcome. How 
5 named ye the Templar? ” 

“Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“Bois-Guilbert,” said Cedric, still in the musing, half -argu- 
ing tone, which the habit of living among dependents had 
accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a man who 
10 talks to himself rather than to those around him — “Bois-Guil- 
bert? That name has been spread wide both for good and evil. 
They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order; but stained 
with their usual vices — pride, arrogance, cruelty, and voluptu- 
ousness; a hard-hearted man, whoknowsneither fear of earth, 
15 nor awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have returned 
from Palestine. — Well, it is but for one night; he shall be 
welcome too. — Oswald, broach the oldest wine-cask; place the 
best mead, the mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most spark- 
ling cider, the most odoriferous pigments, upon the board; 
20 fill the largest horns — Templars and Abbots love good wines 
and good measure. — Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we 
shall not this night expect her in the hall, unless such be her 
especial pleasure.” 

“ But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered Elgitha, with 
25 great readiness, “ for she is ever desirous to hear the latest 
news from Palestine.” 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty resent- 
ment ; but Rowena, and whatever belonged to her, were privi- 
leged and secure from his anger. He only replied, “Silence, 
30 maiden ; thy tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my message 
to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here, at least, 
the descendant of Alfred still reigns a princess.” Elgitha left 
the apartment. 

“Palestine!” repeated the Saxon; “Palestine! how many 
35 ears are turned to the tales which dissolute crusaders, or hypo- 
critical pilgrims, bring from that fatal land ! I too might ask 
— I too might inquire — I too might listen with a beating heart 
to fables which the wily strollers devise to cheat us into hospi- 
tality — but no, — the son who has disobeyed me is no longer 


lYANHOE. 


31 


mine ; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than for that 
of the most worthless among the millions that ever shaped the 
cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and blood-guiltiness, 
and called it an accomplishment of the will of God.’’ 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant on the 6 
ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at the bottom of 
the hall were cast wide, and, preceded by the major-domo with 
his wand, and four domestics bearing blazing torches, the 
'guests of the evening entered the apartment. 


CHAPTER IV. 

With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled, 

And the proud steer was on the marble spread ; 

With fire prepai’ed, they deal the morsels round, 

Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 

♦ * sic * * # 

Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat ; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat, 

The Prince assigns 

Odyssey^ Book 21. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded him, 10 
of changing his riding robe for one of yet more costly materials, 
over which he wore a cope curiously embroidered. Besides 
the massive golden signet ring, which marked his ecclesiastical 
dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon, were loaded 
with precious gems; his sandals were of the finest leather 15 
^ which was imported from Spain; his beard trimmed to as 
small dimensions as his order would possibly permit, and his 
shaven crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also changed ; 
and, though less studiously bedecked with ornament, his dress 20 
was as rich, and his appearance far more commanding, than 
that of his companion. He had exchanged his shirt of mail 
for an under tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, 
over which fiowed his long robe of spotless white, in ample 
folds. The eight-pointed cross of his order was cut on the 25 
shoulder of his mantle in black velvet. The high cap no 


32 


IVANHOE. 


longer invested his brows, which were only shaded by short 
and thick curled hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to 
his unusually swart complexion. Nothing could be more grace- 
fully majestic than his step and manner, had they not been 
6 marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, easily acquired 
by the exercise of unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their respective 
attendants, and at a more humble distance by their guide, 
whose figure had nothing more remarkable than it derived 
10 from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or mantle of 
coarse black serge enveloped his whole body. It was in shape 
something like the cloak of a modern hussar, having similar 
flaps for covering the arms, and was called a Sclaveyn, or 
Sclavonian. Coarse sandals, bound with thongs, on his bare 
15 feet; a broad and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched on 
its brim, and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end of 
which was attached a branch of palm, completed the Palmer’s 
attire. He followed modestly the last of the train which 
entered the hall, and, observing that the lower table scarce 
20 afforded room sufficient for the domestics of Cedric and the 
retinue of his guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside and 
almost under one of the large chinmeys, and seemed to employ 
himself in drying his garments, until the retreat of some one 
should make room at the board, or the hospitality of the 
25 steward should supply him with refreshments in the place he 
had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of dignified hos- 
pitality, and, descending from the dais, or elevated part of his 
hall, made three steps towards them, and then awaited their 
30 approach. 

“I grieve,” he said, “reverend Prior, that my vow binds 
me to advance no farther upon this floor of my fathers, even 
to receive such guests as you, and this valiant Knight of the 
Holy Temple. But my steward has expounded to you the 
35 cause of my seeming discourtesy. Let me also pray, that you 
will excuse my speaking to you in my native language, and 
that you will reply in the same if your knowledge of it per- 
mits; if not, I sufficiently understand Norman to follow your 
meaning.” 


IVANHOE. 


33 


“ Vows,” said the Abbot, ‘‘ must be unloosed, worthy Frank- 
lin, or permit me rather to say, worthy Thane, though the title 
is antiquated. Vows are the knots which tie us to Heaven — 
they are the cords which bind the sacrifice to the horns of the 
altar, — and are therefore, — as I said before, — to be unloosened 5 
and discharged, unless our holy Mother Church shall pronounce 
the contrary. And respecting language, I willingly hold com- 
munication in that spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda 
of Middleham, who died in odor of sanctity, little short, if we 
may presume to say so, of her glorious namesake, the blessed 10 
Saint Hilda of Whitby, God be gracious to her soul ! ” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a conciliatory 
harangue, his companion said briefly and emphatically, ‘*I 
speak ever French, the language of King Pichard and his 
nobles ; but I understand English sufficiently to communicate 15 
with the natives of the country.” 

Cedric darted at the spealcer one of those hasty and impati- 
ent glances, which comparisons between the two rival nations 
seldom failed to call forth ; but, recollecting the duties of hos- 
pitality, he suppressed further show of resentment, and, mo- 20 
tioning with his hand, caused his guests to assume two seats a 
little lower than his own, but placed close beside him, and 
gave a signal that the evening meal should be placed upon 
the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s commands, 25 
his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd, who, with his com- 
panion Wamba, had just entered the hall. “Send these 
loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, impatiently. And 
when the culprits came before the dais, — “ How comes it, vil- 
lains ! that you have loitered abroad so late as this ! Hast 30 
thou brought home thy charge, sirrah Gurth, or hast thou left 
them to robbers and marauders ? ” 

“The herd is safe, so please ye, ’’said Gurth. 

“ But it does not please me, thou knave,” said Cedric, “ that 
I should be made to suppose otherwise for two hours, and sit 35 
here devising vengeance against my neighbors for wrongs 
they have not done me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison- 
house shall punish the next offense of this kind.” 

Gurth, knowing his nuister’s irritable temper, attempted np 
3 


34 


IVANHOE. 


exculpation; but the Jester, who could presume upon Cedric’s 
tolerance, by virtue of his privileges as a fool, replied for them 
both, “ In troth, uncle Cedric, you are neither wise nor reason- 
able to-night.” 

5 “How, sir?” said his master; “you shall to the porter’s 
lodge, and taste of the discipline there, if you give your foolery 
such license.” 

“First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, “is it just 
and reasonable to punish one person for the fault of another ? ” 
10 “ Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

“ Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for the 
fault of his dog Fangs ? for I dare be sworn we lost not a 
minute by the way, when we had got our herd together, which 
Fangs did not manage until we heard the vesper-bell.” 

15 ‘ ‘ Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily towards 

the swineherd, “ if the fault is his, and get thee another dog.” 

“Under favor, uncle,” said the Jester, “that were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice ; for it was no fault 
of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather the herd, but 
20 the fault of those that struck off two of his fore-claws, an 
operation for which, if the poor fellow had been consulted, he 
would scarce have given his voice.” 

‘ ‘ And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to my 
bondsman ? ” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

25 “ Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “ Sir Philip de 

Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs strolling 
in the forest, and said he chased the deer contrary to his 
master’s right, as warden of the walk.” 

“The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, “ and 
30 his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood was dis- 
forested in terms of the great Forest Charter. But enough of.' 
this. Go to, knave, go to thy place — and thou, Gurth, get 
thee another dog, and should the keeper dare to touch it, I will 
mar his archery ; the curse of a coward on my head, if I strike 
35 not off the forefinger of his right hand I — He shall draw bow- 
string no more. — I crave your pardon, my worthy guests. I 
am \beset here with neighbors that match your infidels, Sir 
Knight, in Holy Land. But your homely fare is before you; 
feed, and let welcome make amends for hard fare.” 


IVANHOE. 


35 


The feast, however, which was spread upon the board, 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. Swine’s 
flesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on the lower part of 
the board, as also that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and 
various kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and cakes of 
bread, and sundry confections made of fruits and honey. The 
smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which there was abundance, 
were not served up in platters, but brought in upon small 
wooden spits or broaches, and offered by the pages and domes- 
tics who bore them, to each guest in succession, who cut from 
them such a portion as he pleased. Beside each person of rank 
was placed a goblet of silver ; the lower board was accommo- 
dated with large drinking horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the major-domo, 
or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud, — ‘‘ Forbear! 
— Place for the Lady Rowena.” A side-door at the upper end 
of the hall now opened behind the banquet table, and Rowena, 
followed by four female attendants, entered the apartment. 
Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not altogether agreeably 
so, at his ward appearing in public on this occasion, hastened 
to meet her, and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to 
the elevated seat at his own right hand, appropriated to the 
lady of the mansion. All stood up to receive her; and, reply- 
ing to their courtesy by a mute gesture of salutation, she moved 
gracefully forward to assume her place at the board. Ere she 
had time to do so, the Templar whispered to the Prior, “I shall 
wear no collar of gold of 3^ ours at the tournament. The Chian 
wine is your own.” 

“ Said I not so?” answered the Prior; “but check your 
raptures, the Franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to act 
upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon beauty, more strik- 
ing perhaps to his imagination, because differing widely from 
those of the Eastern sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Rowena was tall 
in stature, yet not so much so as to attract observation on ac- 
count of superior height. Her complexion was exquisitely 
fair, but the noble cast of her^head and features prevented the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


36 


IVANHOE. 


insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her 
clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a graceful eyebrow 
of brown sufficiently marked to give expression to the forehead, 
seemed capable to kindle as well as melt, to command as well 
5 as to beseech. If mildness were the more natural expression 
of such a combination of features, it was plain, that in the 
present instance, the exercise of habitual superiority, and the 
reception of general homage, had given to the Saxon lady a 
loftier character, which mingled with and qualified that be- 
10 stowed by nature. Her profuse hair, of a color betwixt brown 
and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and graceful manner in 
numerous ringlets, to form which art had probably aided 
nature. These locks were braided with gems, and being worn 
at full length, intimated the noble birth and free-born condition 
15 of the maiden. A golden chain, to which was attached a small 
reliquary of the same metal, hung round her neck. She wore 
bracelets on her arms, which were bare. Her dress was an 
under-gown and kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hung 
a long loose robe, which reached to the ground, having very 
20 wide sleeves, which came down, however, very little below 
the elbow. This robe was crimson, and manufactured out of 
the very finest wool. A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, 
was attached to the upper part of it, which could be, at the 
wearer’s pleasure, either drawn over the face and bosom after 
25 tlie Spanish fashion, or disposed as a sort of drapery round the 
shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes bent on 
her with an ardor, that, compared with the dark cavei*ns 
under which they moved, gave them the effect of lighted char- 
30 coal, she drew with dignity the veil around her face, as an 
intimation that the determined freedom of his glance was dis- 
agreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its cause. ‘ ‘ Sir Tem- 
X)lar,” said he, “ the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen 
too little of the sun to enable them to bear the fixed glance of 
35a crusader.” 

“ If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “ I crave your par- 
don — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s pardon — for my 
humility will carry me no lower.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “ has punished us all, 


IVANHOE. 


37 


in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me hope she will 
be less cruel to the splendid train which are to meet at the 
tournament.” 

“ Our going thither,” said Cedric, “is uncertain. I love not 
these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers when Eng- 
land was free.” 

“ Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “ our company 
may determine you to travel thitherward ; when the roads are 
so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be 
despised.” 

“Sir Prior,” answered the Saxon, “wheresoever I have 
traveled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with the 
assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, in no re- 
spect needful of other aid. At present, if we indeed journey 
to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, we do so with my noble neighbor and 
countryman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and with such a 
train as would set outlaws and feudal enemies at defiance. — I 
drink to you. Sir Prior, in this cup of wine, which I trust your 
taste will approve, and I thank you for your courtesy. Should 
you be so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,” he added, “ as 
to prefer your acid preparation of milk, I hope you will not 
strain courtesy to do me reason.” 

“ Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “ it is only in our abbey 
that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or the lac acidum 
either. Conversing with the world, we use the world’s fash- 
ion, and therefore I answer your pledge in this honest wine, 
and leave the weaker liquor to my lay-brother.” 

“ And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, “ drink was- 
sail to the fair Kowena; for since her namesake introduced the 
word into England, has never been one more worthy of such 
a tribute. By my faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vorti- 
gern, had he half the cause that we now witness, for making 
shipwreck of his honor and his kingdom.” 

“ I will spare your courtesy. Sir Knight,” said Powena with 
dignity, and without unveiling herself; “ or rather I will tax 
it so far as to require of you the latest news from Palestine, a 
theme more agreeable to our English ears, than the compli- 
ments which your French breeding teaches.” 

“I have little of importance to say, lady,” answered Sir 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


38 IVANHOE. 

Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ excepting the confirmed tidings of a 
truce with Saladin.” 

He was interrupted by Wamha, who had taken his appropri- 
ated seat upon a chair, the back of which was decorated with 
g two ass’s ears, and which was placed about two steps behind 
that of his master, who, from time to time, supplied him with 
victuals from his own trencher ; a favor, however, which tho 
Jester shared with the favorite dogs, of whom, as we have 
already noticed, there were several in attendance. Here sat 
Wamba, with a small table before him, his heels tucked up 
against the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to make 
his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and his eyes half- 
shut, yet watching with alertness every opportunity to exer- 
cise his licensed foolery. 

“ These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, without car- 
ing how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, “ make 
an old man of me ! ” 

‘ ‘ Go to, knave, how so ? ” said Cedric, his features prepared 
to receive favorably the expected jest. 

“ Because,” answered Wamba, “ I remember three of them 
in my day, each of which was to endure for the course of fifty 
years ; so that, by computation, I must be at least a hundred 
and fifty years old.’’ 

“ I will warrant you against dying of old age, however,” 
said the Templar, who now recognized his friend of the forest; 
“I will assure you from all deaths but a violent one, if you 
give such directions to wayfarers, as you did this night to the 
Prior and me.” 

“ How, sirrah ? ” said Cedric, “misdirect travelers? We 
gQ must have you whipt ; you are at least as much rogue as fool.” 

“ I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “ let my folly for 
once protect my roguery. I did but make a mistake between 
my right hand and my left, and he might have pardoned a 
greater, who took a fool for his counselor and guide.” 
gf- Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the 
porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger at the 
gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

“ Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what he may; — a 
night like that which roars without, compels even wild animals 


IVANHOE. 


39 


to herd with tame, and to seek the protection of man, their 
mortal foe, rather than perish by the elements. Let his wants 
be ministered to with all care. — Look to it, Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting hall to see the com- 
mands of his patron obeyed. 6 


CHAPTER V. 

Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
senses, affections, passions ? Fed with the same food, hurt with the 
same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is ? 

Merchant of Venice. 

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his master, 

“ It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York; is it fit I should 
marshal him into the hall ? ” 

“Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba, with his 
usual effrontery ; ‘ ‘ the swineherd will be a fit usher to the 10 
Jew.” 

“St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “an unbe- 
lieving Jew, and admitted into this presence ! ” 

“ A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “ to approach a defender 
of the Holy Sepulcher ? ” 15 

“ By my faith,” said Wamba, “ it would seem the Templars 
love the Jews’ inheritance better than they do their com- 
pany.” 

“Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric; “my hospitality 
must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven bore with 20 
the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for more years 
than a layman can number, we may endure the presence of one 
Jew for a few hours. But I constrain no man to converse or 
to feed with him. — Let him have a board and a morsel apart, 

— unless,” he said, smiling, “these turban’d strangers will 25 
admit his society.” 

“Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “my Saracen slaves 
are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any Christian to hold 
intercourse with a Jew.” 

“ Now, in faith,” said Wamba, “ I cannot see that the wor- 30 


40 


IVANHOE. 


shipers of Maliound and Termagaunt have so greatly the 
advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven.” 

“ He shall sit with thee, Wamba,” said Cedric; “ the fool and 
the knave will be well met.” 

6 “ The fool,” answered Wamba, raising the relics of a gam- 

mon of bacon, “ will take care to erect a bulwark against the 
knave.” 

“ Hush,” said Cedric, “ for here he comes.” 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with fear 
10 and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a tall, thin 
old man, who, however, had lost by the habit of stooping 
much of his actual height, approached the lower end of the 
board. His features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose, 
and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled forehead, and 
15 long gray hair and beard, would have been considered as hand- 
some, had they not been the marks of a physiognomy peculiar 
to a race, which, during those dark ages, was alike detested by 
the credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the 
greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps, owing to that 
20 very hatred and persecution, had adopted a national charac- 
ter, in which there was much, to say the least, mean and un- 
amiable. 

The Jew's dress, which appeared to have suffered consider- 
ably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many folds. 
25 covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boots lined with 
fur, and a belt around his waist, which sustained a small knife, 
together with a case for writing materials, but no weapon. He 
wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned 
to his nation to distinguish them from Christians, and which 
30 he doffed with great humility at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the Saxon, 
was such as might have satisfied the inost prejudiced enemy of 
the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer 
to the Jew’s repeated salutations, and signed to him to take 
35 place at the lower end of the table, where, however, no one 
offered to make room for him. On the contrary, as he passed 
along the file, casting a timid supplicating glance, and turning 
towards each of those who occupied the lower end of the board, 
the Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and continued to 


IVANHOE. 


41 


devour their supper with great perseverance, paying not the 
least attention to the wants of the new guest. The attendants 
of the Abbot crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, 
and the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them, 
curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid their hands 
on their poniards, as if ready to rid themselves by the most 
desperate means from the apprehended contamination of his 
nearer approach. 

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to open 
his hall to this son of a rejected people, would have made him 
insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with more courtesy. 
But the Abbot had, at this moment, engaged him in a most 
interesting discussion on the breed and character of his favor- 
ite hounds, which he would not have interrupted for matters 
of much greater importance than that of a Jew going to bed 
supperless. While Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present 
society, like his people among the nations, looking in vain for 
welcome or resting place, the Pilgrim who sat by the chimney 
took compassion upon him, and resigned his seat, saying 
briefly, “Old man, my garments are dried, my hunger is 
appeased ; thou art both wet and fasting.” So saying, he gath- 
ered together, and brought to a flame, the decaying brands 
which lay scattered on the ample hearth ; took from the larger 
board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it upon the 
small table at which he had himself supped, and, without wait- 
ing the Jew's thanks, went to the other side of the hall ; — 
whether from unwillingness to hold more close communication 
with the object of his benevolence, or from a wish to draw near 
to the upper end of the table, seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to execute 
such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered form, and ex- 
panded his chilled and trembling hands over the fire, would 
have formed no bad emblematical personification of the Winter 
season. Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly to the 
smoking mess which was placed before him, and ate with a 
haste and an apparent relish, that seemed to betoken long 
abstinence from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their discourse 
upon hunting ; the Lady Rowena seemed engaged in conver- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

00 

35 


42 


IVANHOE. 


sation with one of her attendant females ; and the haughty 
Templar, whose eye seemed to wander from the Jew to the 
Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind thoughts which appeared 
deeply to interest him. 

5 “I marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as their dis- 
course proceeded, “that, great as your predilection is for your 
own manly language, you do not receive the Norman-French 
into your favor, so far at least as the mystery of wood-craft 
and hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is so rich in the 
10 various phrases which the field-sports demand, or furnishes 
means to the experienced woodman so well to express his 
jovial art.” 

“ Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, “ be it known to you, 
1 care not for those over-sea refinements, without which I can 
15 well enough take my pleasure in the woods. I can wind my 
horn, though I call not the blast either a recheate or a morte — 
I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and quarter the 
animal when it is brought down, without using the new-fan- 
gled jargon of curee^ arbor^ nombles, and all the babble of the 
20 fabulous Sir Tristrem.” 

“ The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice with the 
presumptuous and authoritative tone which he used upon all 
occasions, ‘ ‘ is not only the natural language of the chase, but 
that of love and of war, in which ladies should be won and 
25 enemies defied.” 

“Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,” said Cedric, 
“ and fill another to the Abbot, while I look back some thirty 
years to tell you another tale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, 
his plain English tale needed no garnish from French trouba- 
30 dours, when it was told in the ear of beauty ; and the field of 
Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy Standard, could tell 
whether the Saxon war-cry was not heard as far within the 
ranks of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of the boldest 
Norman baron. To the memory of the brave who fought 
35 there ! — Pledge me, my guests.” He drank deep, and went 
on with increasing warmth. “ Ay, that was a day of cleaving 
of shields, when a hundred banners were bent forward over 
the heads of the valiant, and blood flowed round like water, 
and death was held bett^ than flight. A Saxon bard had 


IVANHOE. 


43 


called it a feast of the swords — a gathering of the eagles to the 
prey — the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet, the shout- 
ing of battle more joyful than the clamor of a bridal. But 
our bards are no more,” he said; “ our deeds are lost in those 
of another race, — our language — our very name — is hastening 
to decay, and none mourns for it save one solitary old man. — 
Cup-bearer ! knave, fill the goblets — To the strong in arms. 
Sir Templar, be their race or language what it will, who now 
bear them best in Palestine among the champions of the 
Cross ! ” 

“It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,” said 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; “ yet to whom, besides the sworn 
Champions of the Holy Sepulcher, can the palm be assigned 
among the champions of the Cross ? ” 

“ To the Knights Hospitallers,” said the Abbot; “ 1 have a 
brother of their order.” 

“I impeach not their fame,” said the Templar; “neverthe- 
less ” 

“I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, “that 
had Eichard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough to have 
taken a fool’s advice, he might have staid at home with his 
merry Englishmen, and left the recovery of Jerusalem to those 
same knights who had most to do with the loss of it.” 

“Were there, then, none in the English army,” said the 
Lady Eo wena, ‘ ‘ whose names are worthy to be mentioned 
with the Knights of the Temple, and of St. John ? ” 

“ Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert ; “ the English 
monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine a host of gallant war- 
riors, second only to those whose breasts have been the un- 
ceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 

“ Second to none,” said the Pilgrim, who had stood near 
enough to hear, and had listened to this conversation with 
marked impatience. All turned towards the spot from whence 
this unexpected asseveration was heard. “I say, ’’.repeated 
the Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, ‘ ‘ that the English 
chivalry were second to none who ever drew sword in defense 
of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I saw it, that King 
Eichard himself, and five of his knights, held a tournament 
after the taking of St. John-de-Acre, as challengers against all 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


44 


IVANHOE. 


comers. I say that, on that day, each knight ran three 
courses, and cast to the ground three antagonists. I add, that 
seven of these assailants were Knights of the Temple — and Sir 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert well knows the truth of what I tell 
5 you.” 

It is impossible for language to describe the hitter scowl of 
rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance of 
the Templar. In the extremity of his resentment and confu- 
sion, his quivering fingers griped towards the handle of his 
10 sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the consciousness 
that no act of violence could be safely executed in that place 
and presence. Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right on- 
ward and simple kind, and were seldom occupied by more 
' than one object at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with 
15 which he heard of the glory of his countrymen, to remark the 
angry confusion of his guest. “ I would give thee this golden 
bracelet. Pilgrim,” he said, '‘couldst thou tell me the names 
of those knights who upheld so gallantly the renown of merry 
England.” 

20 “ That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, “ and without 

guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from touching 
gold.” 

“I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,” said Wamba. 

25 “ The first in honor as in arms, in renown as in place,” said 

the Pilgrim, “ was the brave Eichard, King of England.” 

“I forgive him,” said Cedric; PI forgive him his descent 
from the tyrant Duke William.” 

“The Earl of Leicester was the second,” continued the Pil- 
30 grim; “ Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third.” 

“Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric with exulta- 
tion. 

“ Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pilgrim. 

“Saxon also, at least by the mother's side,” continued 
3^ Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, in 
part at least, his hatred to the Normans, in the common tri- 
umph of the King of England and his islanders. “ And who 
was the fifth ? ” he demanded. 

“ The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.” 


IVANHOE. 


45 


“ Genuine Sr.xon, by the soul of Hengist! ” shouted Cedric. 
“And the sixth?” he continued with eagerness — “how 
name you the sixth ? ” 

“The sixth/’ said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he 
seemed to recollect himself, “ was a young knight of lesser 
renown and lower rank, assumed into that honorable com- 
pany, less to aid their enterprise than to make up their 
number: — his name dwells not in my memory.” 

“Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert scornfully, 
“ this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been remem- 
bered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will myself tell 
the name of the knight before whose lance fortune and my 
horse’s fault occasioned my falling— it was the Knight of 
Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his years, had 
more renown in arms. — Yet this will I say, and loudly — that 
were he in England, and durst repeat, in this week’s tourna- 
ment, the challenge of St. John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed 
as I now am, would give him every advantage in weapons, 
and abide the result.” 

“Your challenge would be soon answered,” replied the 
Palmer, “ were your antagonist near you. As the matter is, 
disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of the issue of the 
conflict, which you well know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe 
ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets 
you.” 

“ A goodly security I ” said the Knight Templar; “ and what 
do you proffer as a pledge ? ” 

“ This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small ivory box 
from his bosom, and crossing himself, “ containing a portion 
of the true cross, brought from the Monastery of Mount 
Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a pater- 
noster, in which all devoutly joined, excepting the Jew, the 
Mahommedans, and the Templar; the latter of whom, without 
vailing his bonnet, or testifying any reverence for the alleged 
sanctity of the relic, took from his neck a gold chain, which 
be flung on the board, saying — “Let Prior Aymer hold my 
pledge and that of this nameless vagrant, in token that when 
the Knight of Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


46 


IVANHOE. 


he underlies the challenge of Brian de Bois-Giiilbert, which, if 
he answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls 
of every Temple Court in Europe.” 

“ It will not need*,” said the Lady Bowena, breaking silence; 

6 “ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised in 
behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly 
every honorable challenge. Could my weak warrant add 
security to the inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would 
pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud knight 
:.0 the meeting he desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occupied 
Cedric, and kept him silent during this discussion. Gratifled 
pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each other over his 
broad and open brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over 
15 a harvest-fleld; while his attendants, on whom the name of the 
sixth knight seemed to produce an effect almost electrical, 
hung in suspense upon their master’s looks. But when Rowena 
spoke, the sound of her voice seemed to startle him* from his 
silence. 

20 ‘ ‘ Lady , ” said Cedric, ‘ ‘ this beseems not ; were further pledge 

necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, as I am, 
would yet gage my honor for the honor of Ivanhoe. But the 
wager of battle is complete, even according to the fantastic 
fashions of Norman chivalry. — Is it not. Father Aymer ? ” 

25 “ It is,” replied the Prior; ‘‘and the blessed relic and rich 

chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our convent, until 
the decision of this warlike challenge.” 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and again* 
,and after many genuflections and muttered prayers, he de^ , 
30 livered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his attendant monk, 
while he himself swept up with less ceremony, but perhaps 
with no less internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and be- 
stowed it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which opened 
under his arm. “And now, Sir Cedric,” he said, “my ears 
35 are chiming vespers with the strength of your good wine — 
permit us another pledge to the welfare of the Lady Rowena, 
and indulge us with liberty to pass to our repose.” 

By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “ you do but 
^mall credit to your fame. Sir Priori Report speaks you a 


IVANHOE. 


47 


bonny monk, that would hear the matin chime ere he quitted 
his howl; and, old as I am, I feared to have shame in encoun- 
tering you. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my 
time, would not so soon have relinquished his goblet.” 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering in 5 
the course of temperance which he had adopted. He was not 
only a professional peacemaker, but from practice a hater of 
all feuds and brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his 
neighbor, or to himself, or from a mixture of both. On the 
present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension of the 10 
fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw the danger that the reck- 
less and presumptuous spirit, of which his companion had 
already given so many proofs, might at length produce some 
disagreeable explosion. He therefore gently insinuated the 
incapacity of the native of any other country to engage in the 15 
genial conflict of the bowl with the hardy and strong-headed 
Saxons; something he mentioned, but slightly, about his own 
holy character, and ended by pressing his proposal to depart 
to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the guests, 20 
after making deep obeisance to their landlord and to the Lady 
Eowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while the heads of the 
family, by separate doors, retired with their attendants. 

‘‘Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, as 
he passed him in the throng, ‘ ‘ dost thou bend thy course to 25 
the tournament ? ” 

“ I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all humility, “ if 
it please your reverend valor.” 

“Ay,” said the Knight, “ to gnaw the bowels of our nobles 
with usury, and to gull women and boys with gauds and toys. 3^ 
— I warrant thee store of shekels in thy Jewish scrip.” 

“ Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfiing — so help 
me the God of Abraham! ” said the Jew, clasping his hands 
“ I go but to seek the assistance of some brethren of my tribe 
to aid me to pay the fine which the Exchequer .lew 35 

have imposed upon me — Father Jacob be my speeu; I am an 
impoverished wretch — the very gaberdine I wear is borrowed 
from Eeuben of Tad caster.” 

The Templar smiled sourly* as he replied, “ Beshrew thee for 


48 


IVANHOE. 


a false-hearted liar ! ” and passing onward, as if disdaining 
further conference, he communed with his Moslem slaves in a 
language unknown to the bystanders. The poor Israelite 
seemed so staggered by the address of the military monk, that 
6 the Templar had passed on to the extremity of the hall ere he 
raised his head from the humble posture which he had as- < 
sumed, so far as to be sensible of his departure. And when 
he did look around, it was with the astonished air of one at 
whose feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears still 
10 the astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshaled to 
their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cup-bearer, 
each attended by two torch-bearers and two servants carrying 
refreshments, while servants of inferior condition indicated to 
1C their retinue and to the other guests their respective places of 
repose. 


'' CHAPTER VI. 

To buy his favor I extend this friendship : 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice. 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed 
through the intricate combination of apartments of this large 
and irregular mansion, the cup-bearer coming behind him 
20 whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of 
good mead in his apartment, there were many domestics in 
tliat family who would gladly hear the news he had brought 
from the Holy Land, and particularly that which concerned 
the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared to urge 
25 the same request, observing that a cup after midnight was 
worth three after curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged 
by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for their 
courtesy, but observed that he had included in his religious 
vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters 
which were prohibited in the hall. “ That vow,” said Wamba 
to the cup-bearer, “would scarce suit a serving-man.” 


IVANHOE. 


49 

The cup-bearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure* • 
“ I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,” said 
he ; “ but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let him 
take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. — An wold, ’’said he to the 
torch-bearer, “carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell. — I give 5 
you good-night,” he added, “Sir Palmer, with small thanks 
for short courtesy.” 

“Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison!” said the Palmer, 
with composure; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, 10 
and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a 
second interruption from the waiting-maid of Rowena, who, 
saying in a tone of authority, that her mistress desired to 
speak with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand of An- 
wold, and, bidding him await her return, made a sign to the 15 
Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not think it proper to 
decline this invitation as he had done the former ; for, though 
his gesture indicated some surprise at the summons, he obeyed 
it without answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which 20 
was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment 
of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corre- 
sponded to the respect which was paid to her by the lord of the 
mansion. The walls were covered with embroidered hangings, 
on which different-colored silks, interwoven with gold and 25 
silver threads, had been employed with all the art of which 
the age was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and 
hawking. The bed was adorned with the same rich tapestry, 
and surrounded with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had 
also their stained coverings, and one, which was higher than 30 
the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously 
carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen 
torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not mod- 
ern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon princess. The 85 
walls of the apartment were so ill finished and so full of crev- 
ices, that the rich hangings shook to the night blast, and, in 
despite of a sort of screen intended to protect them from the, 
wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into the air, 

4 


50 


IVANHOh. 


like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there 
was, Avith some rude attempt at taste ; but of comfort there 
was little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at 
5 her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay doAvn to rest. Avas 
seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and looked as 
if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim acknoAvledged 
her claim to it by a Ioav genufiection. 

“Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “ The defender of the 
10 absent has a right to faAwable reception from all Avho value 
truth, and honor manhood.” She then said to her train, 

‘ ‘ Retire, excepting only Elgitha ; I would speak with this holy 
Pilgrim.” 

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its 
15 further extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the 
wall, Avhere they remained mute as statues, though at such a 
distance that their whispers could not have interrupted the 
conversation of their mistress. 

“ Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during 
20 which she seemed uncertain how to address him, “you this 
night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said, Avith a degree of 
effort, ‘ ‘ the name of Ivanhoe, in the halls where by nature and 
kindred it should have sounded most acceptably ; and yet, such 
is the perverse course of fate, that of many whose hearts must 
25 have throbbed at the sound, I, only, dare ask you where, and 
in Avhat condition, you left him of whom you spoke. — We heard 
that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired 
health, after the departure of the English army, he had experi- 
enced the persecution of the French faction, to whom the Teni- 
30 plars are knoAvn to be attached.” 

“ I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered the 
Palmer, Avith a troubled voice. “ I would I knew him better, 
since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, I believe, 
surmounted the persecution of his enemies in Palestine, and 
35 is on the eve of returning to England, where you, lady, must 
know better than I, what is his chance of happiness.” 

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particularly 
when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his native 
country, and whether he Avould not be exposed to great dangers 


IVANHOE. 


51 


by the road. On the first point, the Palmer professed igno- 
rance; on the second, he said that the voyage might be safely 
made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and* from thence 
through France to England. “ Ivanhoe,” he said, “ was so 
well acquainted with the language and manners of the French, 
that there was no fear of his incurring any hazard during that 
part of his travels.” 

“ Would to God,” said the Lady Powena, “he were here 
safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the approaching tour- 
ney, in Avhich the chivalry of this land are expected to display 
their address and valor. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he 
reaches England. — How looked he, stranger, when you last 
saw him ? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength 
and comeliness ? ” 

“ He was darker,” said the Palmer, “ and thinner, than when 
he came from Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, and care 
seemed to sit heavy on his brow ; but I approached not his 
presence, because he is unknown to me.” 

“He will,” said the lady, “I fear, find little in his native 
land to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, 
good Pilgrim, for your information concerning the companion 
of my childhood. — Maidens,” she said, “ draw near — offer the 
sleeping-cup to this holy man, whom I will no longer detain 
from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing a rich 
mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely put to her 
lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, after a low 
obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“ Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, offering a 
piece of gold, “ in acknowledgment of thy painful travail, and 
of the shrines thou hast visited.” 

The Palmer received the boon with another low reverence, 
and followed Elgitha out of the apartment. 

In the anteroom he found his attendant An wold, who, tak- 
ing the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid, conducted 
him with more haste than ceremony to an exterior and ignoble 
part of the building, where a number of small apartments, or 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


IVANHOE. 


D2 

rather cells, served for sleeping places to the lower order of 
domestics, and to strangers of mean degree. 

“ In which of these sleeps the Jew ? ” said the Pilgrim. 

“The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, “ kennels in the 
^ cell next your holiness. — St. Dunstan, how it must be scraped 
and cleansed ere it be again fit for a Christian ! ” 

“ And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd ? ” said the stranger. 

Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “ sleeps in the cell on your 
right, as the Jew on that to your left; you serve to keep the 
10 child of circumcision separate from the abomination of his 
tribe. You might have occupied a more honorable place had 
yDu accepted of Oswald’s invitation.” 

“It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer; “the company, 
even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination through an 
15 oaken partition.” 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and taking 
the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him and wished 
him good-night. Having shut the door of his cell, he placed 
the torch in a candlestick made of wood, and looked around 
20 his sleeping apartment, the furniture of which was of the most 
simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden stool, and still 
ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and accom- 
modated with two or three sheepskins by way of bed-clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw himself, 
25 without taking off any part of his clothes, on this rude couch, 
and slept, or at least retained his recumbent posture, till the 
earliest sunbeams found their way through the little grated 
window, which served at once to admit both air and light to 
his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and after repeat- 
30 ing his matins, and adjusting his dress, he left it, and entered 
that of Isaac the Jew, lifting the latch as gently as he could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch 
similar to that on which the Palmer himself had passed the 
night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew had laid aside on 
35 the preceding evening, were disposed carefully around his per- 
son, as if to prevent the hazard of their being carried off dur- 
ing his slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow amounting 
almost to agony. His hands and arms moved convulsively, as 
if struggling with the nightmare; and besides several ejacula- 


IVANHOE. 


53 


tions in Hebrew, the following were distinctly heard in the 
Norman-English, or mixed language of the country: “ For the 
sake of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy old man ! I 
am poor, I am penniless — should your irons wrench my limbs 
asunder, I could not gratify you ! ” 5 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, but 
stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch probably asso- ‘ 
ciated, as is usual, with some of the apprehensions excited by 
his dream ; for the old man started up, his gray hair standing ' 
almost erect upon his head, and huddling some part of his gar- 10 
ments about him, while he held the detached pieces with the 
tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen 
black eyes, expressive of wild surprise and of bodily appre- 
hension. 

“Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer; “ I come 15 
as your friend.” 

“The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, greatly 
relieved : “I dreamed — But Father Abraham be praised, it was 
but a dream.” Then, collecting himself, he added in his usual 
tone, “ And what may it be your pleasure to want at so early 20 
an hour with the poor Jew ? ” 

“ It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “ that if you leave not 
this mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, your 
journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“ Holy father! ” said the Jew, “whom could it interest to 25 
endanger so poor a wretch as I am? ” 

“ The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pilgrim; “but 
rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall yester- 
night, he spoke to his Mussulman sjaves in the Saracen lan- 
guage, which I well understand, and charged them this morn- 30 
ing to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him when 
at a convenient distance from the mansion, and to conduct 
him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or to that of Eeginald 
Front-de-Boeuf . ” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror which 35 
seized upon the Jew at this information, and seemed at once to 
overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell down to his sides, 
and his head drooped on his breast, his knees bent under his 
weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame seemed to collapse 


54 


IVANHOE. 


and lose its energy, and he sunk at the foot of the Palmer, not 
in the fashion of one who intentionally stoops, kneels, or pros- 
trates himself to excite compassion, but like a man borne down 
on all sides by the pressure of some invisible force, which 
5 crushes him to the earth without the power of resistance. 

“ Holy God of Abraham ! ’’ was his first exclamation, folding 
and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without raising his gray 
head from the pavement ; “ O holy Moses ! O blessed Aaron I 
the dream is not dreamed for naught, and the vision cometh 
10 not in vain ! I feel their irons already tear my sinews ! 1 feel 

the rack pass over my body like the saws, and harrows, and 
axes of iron over the men of Rabbah. and of the cities of the 
children of Ammon ! ” 

“Stand up, Isaac, and hearken tome,’’ said the Palmer, 
15 who viewed the extremity of his distress with a compassion in 
which contempt was largely mingled; “you have cause for 
your terror, considering how your brethren have been used, in 
order to extort from them their hoards, both by princes and 
nobles, but stand up, I say, and I will point out to you the 
20 means of escape. Leave this mansion instantly, while its 
innaates sleep sound after the last night’s revel. I will guide 
you by the secret paths of the forest, known as well to me as 
to any forester that ranges it, and I will not leave you till you 
are under safe conduct of some chief or baron going to the 
25 tournament, whose good-will you will have probably the means 
of securing.” 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which this 
speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by inch, as it 
were, to raise . himself up from the ground, until he fairly 
.•;0 rested upon his knees, throwing back his long gray hair and 
beard, and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer’s face, 
with a look expressive at once of hope and fear, not unmingled 
with suspicion. But when he heard the concluding part of the 
sentence, his original terror appeared to revive in full force, 
35 and he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, “ I possess tlie 
means of securing good-will ! alas ! there is but one road to the 
favor of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, wliom 
extortions have already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?” 
Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his other feelings, He 


IVANHOE. 


55 


suddenly exclaimed, “ For the love of God, young man, betray 
me not — for the sake of the Great Father who made us all, 
Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite, and Ishmaelite — do me no 
treason ! I have not means to secure the good-will of a 
Christian beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.” As he 
spoke these last words, he raised himself, and grasped the 
Palmer’s mantle with a look of the most earnest entreaty. 
The Pilgrim extricated himself, as if there were contamination 
in the touch. 

“ Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” he said, 
“what interest have I to injure thee? — In this dress I am 
vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught save a horse and 
a coat of mail. Yet think not that I care for thy company, or 
propose myself advantage by it; remain here if thou wilt— 
Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel in his train 
— Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of the poor Isra- 
elite ; and to travel by myself through the domains of Philip 
de Malvoisin and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf — Good youth, I 
will go with you ! — Let us haste — let us gird up our loins — let 
us flee ! — Here is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry ? ” 

“ I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency 
of his companion ; ‘ ^ but I must secure the means of leaving 
this place — follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader 
is apprised, was occupied by Gurth the swineherd. — “Arise, 
Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “arise quickly. Undo the postern 
gate, and let out the Jew and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave 
him as much consequence in Saxon England as that of Eumseus 
in Ithaca, was offended by the familiar and commanding tone 
assumed by the Palmer. “The Jew leaving Rotherwood,” 
said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking superciliously 
at him without quitting his pallet, “ and traveling in company 
with the Palmer to boot — ” 

“ I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who entered 
the apartment at the instant, “of his stealing away with a 
gammon of bacon.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head on 


10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


56 


IVANHOE. 


the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “ l oth Jew ana 
Gentile must be content to abide the opening of the great gate 
— we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth at these unseason- 
able hours.” 

5 “ Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, 

“you will not, I think, refuse me that favor.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swine- 
herd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth 
started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in 
10 an attitude as if to express caution, added, “ Gurth, beware — 
thou art wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern — thou 
shalt know more anon.” 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, w^hile Wamba and 
the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden change in the 
15 swineherd’s demeanor. 

“ My mule, my mule! ” said the Jew, as soon as they stood 
without the postern. 

“ Fetch him his mule,” said the pilgrim ; “ and, hearest thou, 
— let me have another, that I may bear him company till he 
20 is beyond these parts — I will return it safely to some of 
Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou ” — he whispered the 
rest in Gurth ’s ear. 

“Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said Gurth, 
and instantly departed to execute the commission. 

25 “I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s back 
was turned,' “what you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.” 

“To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “to re- 
pent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, 
and long prayers.” 

30 “ Something more potent than that,” answered the Jester; 

“for when would repentance or prayer make Gurth do a 
courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to lend you a mule ? 
— I trow you might as well have told his favorite black boar 
of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as civil 
35 an answer.” 

“ Go to,” said the Pilgrim, thou art but a Saxon fool.” 

“Thou sayest well,” said the Jester; “had I been born a 
Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck on my 
side, and been next door to a wise man.” 


IVANHOE. 


57 


At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of the 
moat with the mules. The travelers crossed the ditch upon a 
drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, the narrowness of 
which was matched with the straitness of the postern, and 
with a little wicket in the exterior palisade, which gave access 
to the forest. No sooner had they reached the mules, than 
the Jew, with hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the 
saddle a small bag of blue buckram, which he took from under 
his cloak, containing, as he muttered, ‘ ‘ a change of raiment — 
only a change of raiment.” Then getting upon the animal 
with more alacrity and haste than could have been anticipated 
from his years, he lost no time in so disposing of the skirts of 
his gaberdine as to conceal completely from observation the 
burden which he had thus deposited en croupe. 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, as 
he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the utmost 
possible veneration. The swineherd stood gazing after the 
travelers until they were lost under the boughs of the forest 
path, when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voice of 
Wamba. 

“ Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “ my good friend Gurth, 
that thou art strangely courteous and most unwontedly pious 
on this summer morning ? I would I were a black Prior or a 
barefoot Palmer, to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and 
courtesy — certes, I would make more out of it than a kiss of 
the hand.” 

“Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered Gurth, 
“ though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest of us 
can do no more. — But it is time to look after my charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by the 
Jester. 

Meanwhile the travelers continued to press on their jour- 
ney with a dispatch which argued the extremity of the Jew’s 
fears, since persons at his age are seldom fond of rapid motion. 
The Palmer, to whom every path and outlet in the wood 
appeared to be familiar, led the way through the most devious 
paths, and more than once excited anew the suspicion of the 
Israelite, that he intended to betray him into some ambuscade 
of his enemies. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


58 


IVANHOE. 


His doubts might have been indeed pardoned ; for, except 
perhaps the flying fish, there was no race existing on the earth, 
in the air, or the waters, who were the objects of such an un- 
intermitting, general, and relentless persecution as the Jews of 
5 this period. Upon the slightest and most unreasonable pre- 
tenses, as well as upon accusations the most absurd and 
groundless, their persons and property were exposed to every 
turn of popular fury; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, 
however adverse these races were to each other, contended 
10 which should look with greatest detestation upon a people, 
whom it was accounted a point of religion to hate, to revile, 
to despise, to plunder, and to persecute. The kings of the 
Norman race, and the independent nobles, who followed their 
example in all acts of tyranny, maintained against this de- 
ls voted people a persecution of a more regular, calculated, and 
self-interested kind. It is a well-known story of King John, 
that he confined a wealthy Jew in one of the royal castles, 
and daily caused one of his teeth to be torn out, until, when 
the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was half disfurnished, he 
20 consented to pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant’s object 
to extort from him. The little ready money which was in the 
country was chiefly in possession of this persecuted people, 
and the nobility hesitated not to follow the example of their 
sovereign, in wringing it from them by every species of oppres- 
25 sion, and even personal torture. Yet the passive courage 
inspired by the love of gain, induced the Jews to dare the 
various evils to which they were subjected, in consideration of 
the immense profits which they were enabled to realize in a 
country naturally so wealthy as England. In spite of every 
30 kind of discouragement, and even of the special court of taxa- 
tions already mentioned, called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected 
for the very purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the 
Jews increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, 
which they transferred from one hand to another by means of 
35 bills of exchange — an invention for which commerce is said to 
be indebted to them, and which enabled them to transfer their 
wealth from land to land, that, when threatened with oppres- 
sion in one country, their treasure might be secured in 
another. 


IVANHOE. 


59 


The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a 
measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny of 
those under whom they lived, seemed to increase in proportion 
to the persecution with which they were visited; and the 
immense wealth they usually acquired in commerce, while it 5 
frequently placed them in danger, was at other times used to 
extend their influence, and to secure to them a certain degree 
of protection. On these terms they lived ; and their charac- 
ter, influenced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and 
timid — yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skillful in evading the 10 
dangers to which they were exposed. 

When the travelers had pushed on at a rapid rate through 
many devious paths, the Palmer at length broke silence. 

“That large, decayed oak,” he said, “ marks the boundaries 
over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority — we are long 15 
since far from those of Malvoisin. There is now no fear of 
pursuit.” 

“May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,” said the 
Jew, “ like those of the host of Pharaoh, that they may 
drive heavily. But leave me not, good Pilgrim. Think but of 20 
that flerce and savage Templar, with his Saracen slaves — they 
will regard neither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.” 

“ Our road,” said the Palmer, “ should here separate; for it 
beseems not men of my character and thine to travel together 
longer than needs must be. Besides, what succor couldst 25 
thou have from me, a peaceful Pilgrim, against two armed 
heathens ? ” 

“ O good youth,” answered the Jew, “ thou canst defend me, 
and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I will requite it — 
not with money, for money, so help me, my Father Abraham, oO 
I have none — but — ” 

“Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, interrupting 
him, “ I have already said I require not of thee. Guide thee I 
can, and, it may be, even in some sort defend thee; since to 
protect a Jew against a Saracen, can scarce be accounted un- 35 
worthy of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will see thee safe 
under some fitting escort. We are now not far from the town 
of Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy tribe 
with whom to take refuge.” 


60 


IVANHOE. 


“ The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth ! ” said the 
Jew; “in Sheffield I can harbor with my kinsman Zareth, and 
find some means of traveling forth with safety.” 

“Be it so,” said the Palmer; “at Sheffield then we part, 
sand half-an-hour’s riding will bring us in sight of that 
town.” 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; 
the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except in 
case of absolute necessity, and the Jew not presuming to force 
10 a conversation with a person whose journey to the Holy Sep- 
ulcher gave a sort of sanctity to his character. They paused 
on the top of a gently rising bank, and the Pilgrim, pointing 
to the town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them, repeated the 
words, “Here, then, we part.” 

15 “ Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said Isaac ; 

“ for I presume not to ask yoit to go with me to my kinsman 
Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means of repaying your 
good offices.” 

“ I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “ that I desire 
20 no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy debtors, thou 
wilt, for my sake, spare the gyves and the dungeon to some 
unhappy Christian who stands in thy danger, I shall hold this 
morning’s service to thee well bestowed.” 

“Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; 
25 “ something would I do more than this, something for thyself. 
— God knows the Jew is poor — yes, Isaac is the beggar of his 
tribe— but forgive me should I guess what thou most lackest 
at this moment.” 

“ If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “ it is what 
30 thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou sayest 
thou art poor.” 

“ As I say ? ” echoed the Jew; “ O ! believe it, I say but the 
truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. Hard 
hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, my ships, 
35 and all that I possessed. — Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest, 
and, it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is for a 
horse and armor.” 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the Jew.— 
“ What fiend prompted that guess ? ” said he, hastily. 


IVANHOE. 


61 


“No matter/’ said the Jew, smiling, “so that it be a true 
one — and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.” 

“ But consider,” said the Palmer, “my character, my dress, 
my vow.” 

“I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “and that the 5 
noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in superstitious 
penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of dead men.” 

“ Blaspheme not, Jew,” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

“ Forgive me,” said the Jew; “ I spoke rashly. But there 
dropt words from you last night and this morning, that, like 10 
sparks from flint, showed the metal within ; and in the bosom 
of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a knight’s chain and spurs of 
gold. They glanced as you stooped over my bed in the 
morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “Were thy gar- 15 
ments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, “ what 
discoveries might not be made ? ” 

“ No more of that,” said the Jew, changing color; and draw- 
ing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to stop the con- 
versation, he began to write upon a piece of paper which he 20 
supported on the top of his yellow cap, without dismounting 
from his mule. When he had finished, he delivered the scroll, 
which was in the Hebrew character, to the Pilgrim, saying, 

“ In the town of Leicester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath 
Jairam of Lombardy"; give him this scroll — he hath on sale 25 
six Milan harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned head — 
ten goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, \vere he to 
do battle for his throne. Of these he will give thee thy choice, 
with everything else that can furnish thee forth for the tour- 
nament : when it is over, thou wilt return them safely — unless 30 
thou shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the 
owner.” 

“But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “dost thou know 
that in these sports, the arms and steed of the knight who is 
unhorsed are forfeit to his victor ? Now I may be unfortu- 35 
nate, and so lose what I cannot replace or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility; but 
collecting his courage, he replied hastily: “ No — no — no — It is 
impossible — I will not think ^o. The blessing of Our Father 


62 IVANHOE. 

will be upon thee. Thy lance will be powerful as the rod of 
Moses.” 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, when the 
Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. “Nay, but, 
5 Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The steed may be slain, 
the armor injured — for I will spare neither horse nor man. 
Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing for nothing; something 
there must be paid for their use.” 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a fit of 
10 the colic; but his better feelings predominated over those 
which were most familiar to him, “ I care not,” he said, “ I 
care not — let me go. If there is damage, it will cost you noth- 
ing — if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam will forgive it 
for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee well! — Yet hark 
15 tliee, good youth,” said he, turning about; “thrust thyself 
not too forward into this vain hurly-burly — I speak not for 
endangering the steed, and coat of armor, but for the sake of 
thine own life and limbs.” 

“ Gramercy for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again smil- 
20 ing; “I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go hard 
with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted and took different roads for the town of Shef- 
field. 


CHAPTER YII. 

Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 

In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires ; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet. 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armorers on palfreys ride, 

Files in their hands, and hammers at their side ; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 

The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands ; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. 

Palamon and Arcite, 

The condition of the English nation was at this time suffi- 
ciently miserable. King Richard Avas absent a prisoner, and ' 


IVANHOE. 


63 


in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke of Austria. 
Even the very place of his captivity was uncertain, and his 
fate but very imperfectly known to the generality of his sub- 
jects, who were, in the meantime, a prey to every species of 
subaltern oppression. 

Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Coeur-de- 
Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of infiuence with 
the Duke of Austria, to prolong the captivity of his brother 
Eichard, to whom he stood indebted for so many favors. In 
the meantime, he was strengthening his own faction in the 
kingdom, of which he proposed to dispute the succession, in 
case of the King’s death, with the legitimate heir, Arthur, 
Duke of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder brother 
of John. This usurpation, it is well known, he afterward 
effected. His own character being light, profligate, and per- 
fidious, John easily attached to his person and faction, not 
only all who had reason to dread the resentment of Eichard 
for criminal proceedings during his absence, but also the 
numerous class of lawless resolutes,” whom the crusades had 
turned back on their country, accomplished in the vices of the 
East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in character, 
and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil commotion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension, must be 
added the multitude of outlaws, who, driven to despair by the 
oppression of the feudal nobility, and the severe exercise of 
the forest laws, banded together in large gangs, and, keeping 
possession of the forests and the wastes, set at defiance the 
justice and magistracy of the country. The nobles them- 
selves, each fortified within his own castle, and playing the 
petty sovereign over his own dominions, were the leaders of 
bands scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of the 
avowed depredators. To maintain these retainers, and to sup- 
port the extravagance and magnificence which their pride in- 
duced them to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of money 
from the Jews at the most usurious interest, which gnawed 
into their estates like consuming cankers, scarce to be cured 
unless when circumstances gave them an opportunity of 
getting free, by exercising upon their creditors some act of 
unprincipled violence. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


64 


IVANHOE. 


Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy state of 
affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for the present, 
and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for the future. To 
augment their misery, a contagious disorder of a dangerous 
5 nature spread through the land; and, rendered more virulent 
by the uncleanness, the indifferent food, and the wretched 
lodging of the lower classes, swept off many whose fate the 
survivors were tempted to envy, as exempting them from the 
evils which' were to come. 

10 Yet amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as well as 
the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the event of a 
tournament, which was the grand spectacle of that age, felt as 
much interested as the half -starved citizen of Madrid, who 
has not a real left to buy provisions for his family, feels in the 
15 issue of a bull-fight. Neither duty nor infirmity could keep 
youth or age from such exhibitions. The Passage of Arms, as 
it was called, which was to take place at Ashby, in the county 
of Leicester, as champions of the first renown were to take the 
field in the presence of Prince John himself, wJio was expected 
20 to grace the lists, had attracted universal attention, and an 
immense confiuence of persons of all ranks hastened upon the 
appointed morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of a wood, 
which approached to within a mile of the town of Ashby, was 
25 an extensive meadow, of the finest and most beautiful green 
turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, and fringed on the 
other by straggling oak-trees, some of which had grown to an 
immense size. The ground, as if fashioned on purpose for the 
martial display which was intended, sloped gradually down on 
30 all sides to a level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists with 
strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of a mile in 
length, and about half as broad. The form of the inclosure 
was an oblong square, save that the corners were considerably 
rounded off, in order to afford more convenience for the spec- 
35 tators. The openings for the entry of the combatants were at 
the northern and southern extremities of the lists, accessible 
by strong wOoden gates, each wide enough to admit two horse- 
men riding abreast. At each of these portals were stationed 
two heralds, attended by six trumpets, as many pursuivants, 


IVANHOE. 


65 


and a strong body of men-at-arms for maintaining order, and 
ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed to engage 
in this martial game.>^ 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed by a 
natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five magnificent 
pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet and black, the chosen 
colors of the five knights challengers. The cords of the tents 
were of the same color. Before each pavilion was suspended 
the shield of the knight by whom it was occupied, and beside 
it stood his squire, quaintly disguised as a salvage or silvan 
man, or in some other fantastic dress, according to the taste 
of his master, and the character he was pleased to assume dur- 
ing the game. The central pavilion, as the place of honor, had 
been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all 
games of chivalry, no less than his connection with the knights 
who had undertaken this Passage of Arms, had occasioned him 
to be eagerly received into the company of the challengers, and 
even adopted as their chief and leader, though he had so re- 
cently joined them. On one side of his tent were pitched those 
of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Richard de Malvoisin, and on 
the other was the pavilion of Hugh de Grantmesnil, a noble 
baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor had been Lord High 
Steward of England in the time of the Conqueror, and his son 
William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, a knight of St. John of 
Jerusalem, who had some ancient possessions at a place called 
Heather near Ashby-de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. 
From the entrance into the lists, a gently sloping passage, ten 
yards in breadth, led up to the platform on which the tents 
were pitched. It was strongly secured by a palisade on each 
side, as was the esplanade in front of the pavilions, and the 
whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar en- 
trance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of which was 
a large inclosed space for such knights as might be disposed to 
enter the lists with the challengers, behind which were placed 
tents containing refreshments of every kind for their accommo- 
dation, with armorers, farriers, and other attendants, in readi- 
ness to give their services wherever they might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary 

5 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


66 


IVANHOE. 


galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, and accommodated 
with cushions for the convenience of those ladies and nobles 
who were expected to attend the tournament. A narrow space, 
betwixt these galleries and the lists, gave accommodation for 
5 yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the mere vul- 
gar, and might be compared to the pit of a theater. The pro- 
miscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large banks of 
turf prepared for the purpose, which, aided by the natural ele^ 
vation of the ground, enabled them to overlook the galleries, 
10 and obtain a fair view into the lists. Besides the accommoda- 
tion which these stations afforded, many hundreds had perched 
themselves on the branches of the trees which surrounded the 
meadow ; and even the steeple of a country church, at some dis- 
V^ance, was crowded with spectators. 

15 It only remains to notice respecting the general arrange- 
ment, that one gallery in the very center of the eastern side of 
the lists, and consequently exactly opposite to the spot where 
the shock of the combat was to take place, was raised higher 
than the others, more richly decorated, and graced by a sort of 
20 throne and canopy, on which the royal arms were emblazoned. 
Squires, pages, and yeomen in rich liveries waited around this 
place of honor, which was designed for Prince John and his 
attendants. Opposite to this royal gallery was another, ele- 
vated to the same height, on the western side of the lists; and 
25 more gayly, if less sumptuously decorated, than that destined 
for the Prince himself. A train of pages and of young maidens, 
the most beautiful who could be selected, gayly dressed in 
fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne decorated 
in the same colors. Among pennons and flags bearing wounded 
30 hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, and 
all the commonplace emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a 
blazoned inscription informed the spectators that this seat of 
honor was designed for La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours, 
But who was to represent the Queen of Beauty and of Love on 
35 the present occasion, no one was prepared to guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged forward 
to occupy their respective stations, and not without many 
quarrels concerning those which they were entitled to hold. 
Some of these were settled by the men-at-arms with brief cere- 


lYANHOE. 


67 


mony; the shafts of their battle-axes and pommels of their 
swords being readily employed as arguments to convince the 
more refractory. Others, which involved the rival claims of 
more elevated persons, were determined by the heralds or by 
the two marshals of the fields, William deWyvil, and Stephen 5 
de Martival, who, armed at all points, rode up and down the 
lists to enforce and preserve good order among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted 
mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more splendid 10 
habits of the ladies, who, in a greater portion than even the 
men themselves, thronged to witness a sport, which one would 
have thought too bloody and dangerous to afford their sex 
much pleasure. The lower and interior space was soon filled ^ 
by substantial yeomen and burghers, and such of the lesser 15 
gentry, as from modesty, poverty, or dubious title, durst not 
assume any higher place. It was of course amongst these that 
the most frequent disputes for precedence occurred. 

“ Dog of an unbeliever,” said an old man^ whose threadbare 
tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, and dagger, and 20 
golden chain intimated his pretensions to rank, “whelp of a 
she-wolf ! darest thou press upon a Christian, and a Norman 
gentleman of the blood of Montdidier ? ” 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other than 
our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even magnificently 25 
dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace and lined with 
fur, was endeavoring to make place in the foremost row 
beneath the gallery for his daughter, the beautiful Eebecca, 
who had joined him at Ashby, and who was now hanging on 
her father’s arm, not a little terrified by the popular displeasure 30 
which seemed generally excited by her parent’s presumption. 
But Isaac, though we have seen him sufficiently timid on other 
occasions, knew well that at present he had nothing to fear. 

It was not in places of general resort, or where their equals 
were assembled, that any avaricious or malevolent noble durst 35 
offer him injury. At such meetings the Jews were under the 
protection of the general law ; and if that proved a weak assur- 
ance, it usually happened that there were among the persons 
assembled some barons, who, for their own interested motives, 


68 


lYANHOE. 


were ready to act as their protectors. On the present occasion, 
Isaac felt more than usually confident, being aware that Prince 
John was even then in the very act of negotiating a large loan 
from the Jews of York, to be secured upon certain jewels 
5 and lands. Isaac’s own share in this transaction was consider- 
able, and he well knew that the Prince’s eager desire to bring 
it to a conclusion would insure him his protection in the 
dilemma in which he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pursued his 
10 point, and jostled the Norman Christian, without respect either 
to his descent, quality, or religion. The complaints of the old 
man, however, excited the indignation of the bystanders. 
One of these, a stout well-set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln- 
green, having twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with a baldric 
15 and badge of silver, and a bow of six feet length in his hand, 
turned short round, and while his countenance, which his con- 
stant exposure to weather had rendered brown as a hazel nut, 
grew darker with anger, he advised the Jew to remember that 
all the wealth he had acquired by sucking the blood of his 
£0 miserable victims had but swelled him like a bloated spider, 
which might be overlooked while it kept in a corner, but would 
be crushed if it ventured into the light. This intimation, de- 
livered in Norman-English with a firm voice and a stern aspect, 
made the Jew shrink back; and he would have probably with- 
£5 drawn himself altogether from a vicinity so dangerous, had 
not the attention of every one been called to the sudden en- 
trance of Prince John, who at that moment entered the lists, 
attended by a numerous and gay train, consisting partly of 
laymen, partly of churchmen, as light in their dress, and as 
30 gay in their demeanor, as their companions. Among the lat- 
ter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim which 
a dignitary of the church could venture to exhibit. Fur and 
gold were not spared in his garments; and the point of his 
boots, out-heroding the preposterous fashion of the time, turned 
35 up so very far, as to be attached, not to his knees merely, but 
to his very girdle, and effectually prevented him from putting 
his foot into the stirrup. This, however, was a slight incon- 
venience to the gallant Abbot, who, perhaps, even rejoicing in 
the opportunity to display his accomplished horsemanship 


IVANHOE. 


69 


before so many spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed 
with the use of these supports to a timid rider. The rest of 
Prince John’s retinue consisted of the favorite leaders of his 
mercenary troops, some marauding barons and profligate at- 
tendants upon the court, with several Knights Templars and 
Knights of St. John. 

It may be here remarked, that the knights of these two 
orders were accounted hostile to King Richard, having adopted 
the side of Philip of France in the long train of disputes which 
took place in Palestine betwixt that monarch and the lion- 
hearted King of England. It was the well-known consequence 
of this discord that Richard’s repeated victories had been ren- 
dered fruitless, his romantic attempts to besiege Jerusalem 
disappointed, and the fruit of all the glory which he had ac- 
quired had dwindled into an uncertain truce with the Sultan 
Saladin. With the same policy which had dictated the con- 
duct of their brethren in the Holy Land, the Templars and 
Hospitallers in England and Normandy attached themselves 
to the faction of Prince John, having little reason to desire the 
return of Richard to England, or the succession of Arthur, his 
legitimate heir. For the opposite reason, Prince John hated 
and contemned the few Saxon families of consequence which 
subsisted in England, and omitted no opportunity of mortify- 
ing and affronting them, being conscious that his person and 
pretensions were disliked by them as well as by the greater 
part of the English commons, who feared farther innovation 
upon their rights and liberties, from a sovereign of John’s 
licentious and tyrannical disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, 
and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, bearing upon 
his hand a falcon, and having his head covered by a rich fur 
bonnet, adorned with a circle of precious stones, from which 
his long curled hair escaped and overspread his shoulders. 
Prince John, upon a gray and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled 
within the lists at the head of his jovial party, laughing loud 
with his train, and eyeing with all the boldness of royal criti- 
cism the beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince a 
dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness and 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


70 


IVANHOE. 


indifference to the feelings of others, could not yet deny to 
his countenance that sort of comeliness which belongs to an 
open set of features, well formed by nature, modeled by art to 
the usual rules of courtesy, yet so frank and honest that they 
5 seemed as if they disclaimed to conceal the natural workings 
of the soul. Such an expression is often mistaken for manly 
frankness, when in truth it arises from the reckless indiffer- 
ence of a libertine disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, 
of wealth, or of some other adventitious advantage, totally 
10 unconnected with personal merit. To those who did not think 
so deeply, and they were the greater number by a hundred to 
one, the splendor of Prince John’s rheno {i.e, fur tippet), the 
richness of his cloak, lined with the most costly sables, his 
maroquin boots and golden spurs, together with the grace 
15 with which he managed his palfrey, were sufficient to merit 
clamorous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of the 
Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, which 
had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac towards the 
20 higher places of the assembly. The quick eye of Prince John 
instantly recognized the Jew, but was much more agreeably 
attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, who, terrified by 
the tumult, clung close to the arm of her aged fathej'. 

The figure of Kebecca might indeed have compared with the 
25 proudest beauties of England, even though it had been judged 
by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince John. Her form was 
exquisitely symmetrical, and was shown to advantage by a 
sort of Eastern dress, which she wore according to the fashion 
of the females of her nation. Her turban of yellow silk suited 
3Q well with the darkness of her complexion. The brilliancy of 
her eyes, the superb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed 
aquiline nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusion of 
her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its own little spiral 
of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a lovely neck and 
35 bosom as asimarre of the richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers 
in their natural colors embossed upon a purple ground, per- 
mitted to be visible — all these constituted a combination of 
loveliness, which yielded not to the most beautiful of the 
maidens who surrounded her. It is true, that of the golden 


IVANHOE. 


71 


and pearl-studded clasps, which closed her vest from the throat 
to the waist, the three uppermost were left unfastened on ac- 
count of the heat, which something enlarged the prospect to 
which we allude. A diamond necklace, with pendants of in- 
estimable value, were by this means also made more conspic- 
uous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in her turban by 
an agraffe set with brilliants, was another distinction of the 
beautiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by the proud dames 
who sat above her, but secretly envied by those who affected 
to deride them. 

“ By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince John, “yonder 
Jewess must be the very model of that perfection, whose charms 
drove frantic the wisest king that ever lived ! What sayest 
thou. Prior Aymer ? — By the Temple of that wise king, which 
our wiser brother Eichard proved unable to recover, she is the 
very Bride of the Canticles ! ” 

“ The Eose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,” answered 
the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone ; ‘ ‘ but your Grace must 
remember she is still but a Jewess.” 

“Ay!” added Prince John, without heeding him, “and 
there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — the Marquis of 
Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contesting for place with penni- 
less dogs, whose threadbare cloaks have not a single cross in 
their pouches to keep the devil from dancing there. By the 
body of St. Mark, my prince of supplies, with his lovely Jewess, 
shall have a place in the gallery !— What is she, Isaac? Thy 
wife or thy daughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest 
under thy arm as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket? ” 

“My daughter Eebecca, so please your Grace,” answered 
Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed by the Prince’s 
salutation, in which, however, there was at least as much 
mockery as courtesy. 

“ The wiser man thou,” said John, with a peal of laughter, in 
which his gay followers obsequiously joined. “ But, daughter 
or wife, she should be preferred according to her beauty and 
thy merits. — Who sits above there ? ” he continued, bending 
his eye on the gallery. “Saxon churls, lolling at their lazy 
length ! — out upon them ! — let them sit close, and make room 
for my prince of usurers and his lovely daughter. I’ll make 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


72 


IVANHOE. 


the hinds know they must share the high places of the syna- 
gogue with those whom the synagogue properly belongs 
to.” 

Those Who occupied the gallery to whom this injurious and 
5 unpolite speech was addressed, were the family of Cedric the 
Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, Athelstane of Con- 
ingsburgh, a personage who, on account of his descent from 
the last Saxon monarchs of England, was held in the highest 
respect by all the Saxon natives of the north of England. But 
10 with the blood of this ancient royal race, many of their infirmi- 
ties had descended to Athelstane. He w^as comely in counte- 
nance, bulky and strong in person, and in the fiower of his age 
— yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy-browed, in- 
active and sluggish in all his motions, and so slow in resolution 
15 that the soubriquet of one of his ancestors was conferred upon 
him, and he was very generally called Athelstane the Unready. 
His friends, and he had many, who, as well as Cedric, were 
passionately attached to him, contended that this sluggish 
temper arose not from want of courage, but from mere want 
20 of decision; others alleged that his hereditary vice of drunken- 
ness had obscured his faculties, never of a veiy acute order, 
and that the passive courage and meek good-nature which re- 
mained behind were merely the dregs of a character that might 
have been deserving of praise, but of which all the valuable 
25 parts had flown off in the progress of a long course of brutal 
debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, that 
the Prince addressed his imperious command to make place for 
Isaac and Rebecca. Athelstane, utterly confounded at an order 
30 which the manners and feelings of the times rendered so inju- 
riously insulting, unwilling to obey, yet undetermined how to 
resist, opposed only the vis inertw to the will of John; and, 
without stirring or making any motion whatever of obedience, 
opened his large gray eyes, and stared at the Prince with an 
35 astonishment which had in it something extremely ludicrous. 
But the impatient John regarded it in no such light. 

“The Saxon porker,” he said, “ is either asleep or minds me 
not — prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” speaking to a 
knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of Free Com- 


IVANHOE. 


73 


panions, or Condottieri ; that is, of mercenaries belonging to no 
particular nation, but attached for the time to any prince by 
whom they were paid. There was a murmur even among the 
attendants of Prince John; but De Bracy, whose profession 
freed him from all scruples, extended his long lance over the 5 
space which separated the gallery from the lists, and would 
have executed the commands of the Prince before Athelstane 
the Unready had recovered presence of mind sufficient even to 
draw back his person from the weapon, had not Cedric, as 
prompt as his companion was tardy, unsheathed, with the speed 10 
of lightning, the sliort sword which he wore, and at a single 
blow severed the point of the lance from the handle. The blood 
rushed into the countenance of Prince John. He swore one of 
his deepest oaths, and was about to utter some threat corre- 
sponding in violence, when he was diverted from his purpose, 15 
partly by his own attendants, who gathered around him con- 
juring him to be patient, partly by a general exclamation of 
the crowd, uttered in loud applause of the spirited conduct of 
Cedric. The Prince rolled his eyes in indignation, as if to col- 
lect some safe and easy victim ; and chancing to encounter the 20 
firm glance of the same archer whom we have already noticed, 
and who seemed to persist in his gesture of applause, in spite 
of the frowning aspect which the Prince bent upon him, he 
demanded his reason for clamoring thus. 

“ I always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, “ when I see a 25 
good shot, or a gallant blow.” 

“Sayest thou ?” answered the Prince; “then thou canst hit 
the white thyself, ITl warrant.” 

‘ ‘ A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I can 
hit,” answered the yeoman. 30 

“ And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,” said a voice 
from behind, but by whom uttered could not be discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his grandfather, at 
once incensed and alarmed Prince John. He satisfied himself, 
however, with commanding the men-at-arms, who surrounded 35 
the lists, to keep an eye on the braggart, pointing to the yeo- 
man. 

“ By St. Grizzel,” he added, “ we will try his own skill, who 
is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others ! ” 


74 


IVANHOE. 


“I shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the com- 
posure which marked his whole deportment. 

“Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the fiery 
Prince; “ for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said it, the 
5 Jew shall have his seat amongst ye I ” 

“By no means, an it please your Grace ! — it is not fit for 
such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said the Jew; 
whose ambition for precedence, though it had led him to dis-^ 
pute place with the extenuated and impoverished descendant 
10 of the line of Montdidier, by no means stimulated him to an 
intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy Saxons. 

“ Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said Prince John, 
“or 1 will have thy swarthy hide stript off, and tanned for 
horse-furniture ! ” 

15 Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and narrow 
steps which led up to the gallery. 

“ Let me see,” said the Prince, “ who dare stop him I ” fix- 
ing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his intention 
to hurl the Jew down headlong. 

20 The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, who, 
springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaiming, in 
answer to the Prince’s defiance, “ Marry, that will I ! ” opposed 
to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn, which he plucked 
from beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, he had fur- 
25 nished himself, lest the tournament should have proved longer 
than his appetite could endure abstinence. Finding the abomi- 
nation of his tribe opposed to his very nose, while the Jester, 
at the same time, flourished his wooden sword above his head, 
the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled down the 
oO steps, — an excellent jest to the spectators, who set up a loud 
laughter, in which Prince John and his attendants heartily 
joined. ^ 

“ Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; “ I have 
vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and shield,” he 
35 added, brandishing the brawn in one hand and the wooden 
sword in the other. 

“ Who and what art thou, noble champion ?” said Prince 
John, still laughing. 

“ A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester; “ 1 am 


IVANHOE. 


75 


Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of Weatherbrain, 
who was the son of an Alderman.” 

“ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” said 
Prince John, not unwilling perhaps to seize an apology to desist 
from his original purpose; “ to place the vanquished beside the 
victor were false heraldry.” 

“ Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the Jester, “ and 
Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 

“ Gramercy ! gopd fellow,” cried Prince John, “ thou pleasest 
me — Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants. ” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse, and 
unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which hung by 
his girdle, and was perhaps endeavoring to ascertain how few 
coins might pass for a handful, the Prince stooped from his 
jennet and settled Isaac’s doubts by snatching the pouch itself 
from his side ; and flinging to Wamba a couple of the gold 
pieces which it contained, he pursued his career round the lists, 
leaving the Jew to the derision of those around him, and him- 
self receiving as much applause from the spectators as if he had 
done some honest and honorable action. 


CHAPTER YHI. 

At this the challenger with fierce defy 

His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply; 

With clangor rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 

Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, 

Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest, 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 

And spurring see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

^ In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly stopt, 
and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared the principal 
business of the day had been forgotten. . 

•‘By my halidom,” said he, “ we have neglected. Sir Prior, 
to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, by whose 
white hand the palm is to be distributed. . For my part, I am 
liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I give my vote for the 
black-eyed Rebecca.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


76 


IVAN HOE. 


“Holy Virgin,” answered the 'trior, turning up his eyes in 
horror, “ a Jewess v?^— We should deserve to be stoned out of 
the lists; and I am not yet old enough to be a martyr. Be- 
sides, I swear by my patron saint, that she is far inferior to the 
5 lovely Saxon, Eowena.” 

“ Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince, “'^Saxon pr Jew, dog 
or hog, what matters it ! I say, name Eebeccat were it only 
to mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own. immediate attend- 
10 ants. 

^“This passes a jest, my lord,” saidDe Bracy ; “ no knight 
here will lay lance in rest if such an insult is attempted. 

“ It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of the oldest 
and most important of Prince John's followers, Waldemar Fitz- 
15 urse, “ and if your Grace attempt it, cannot but prove ruinous 
to your projects.” 

“ I entertained you, sir,” said John, reining up his palfrey 
haughtily, “for my follower, but not for my counselor.” 

, “ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which you 

20 tread,” said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, “ acquire 
the right of counselors ; for your interest and safety are not 
more deeply gaged than their own.” 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw theneces 
sity of acquiescence. ‘ ‘ I did but jest,” he said ; ‘ ‘ and you turn 
25 upon me like so many adders ! Name whom you will, in the 
fiend’s name, and please yourselves.” 

“ Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, “ let the fair sovereign’s throne 
remain unoccupied, until the conqueror shall be named, and 
then let him choose the lady by whom it shall be filled. It will 
30 add another grace to his triumph, and teach fair ladies to prize 
the love of valiant knights, who can exalt them to such dis- 
tinction.” 

“ If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said the Prior, “ I 
will gage my rosary that I name the Sovereign of Love and 
35 Beauty.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “ is a good lance; but 
there are others around these lists. Sir Prior, wlio will not fear 
to encounter him.” 

“Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “ and let the Prince assume 


IVANHOE. 


77 


his seat. The knights and spectators are alike impatient, the 
time advances, and highly fit it is that the sports should com- 
mence.” 

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Waldemar 
Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favorite minister, who, in 
serving his sovereign, must always do so in his own way#' The 
Prince acquiesced, however, although his disposition was pre- 
cisely of that kind which is apt to be obstinate upon trifles, and, 
assuming his throne, and being surrounded by his followers, 
gave signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of the tourna- 
ment, which were briefly as follows : 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

'^ Secondly, any knight proposing to combat, might, if he 
pleased, select a special antagonist from among the challengers, 
by touching his shield. If he did so with the reversp of his 
lance, the trial of skill was made with what were called the 
arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a 
piece of round flat board was fixed, so that no danger was 
encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders. But 
if the shield was touched with the sharp end of the lance, the 
combat was understood to be at outrance^ that is, the knights 
were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished their 
vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince was 
to declare the victor in the first day’s tourney, who should re- 
ceive as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty and matchless 
strength; and in addition to this reward of valor, it was now 
declared, he should have the peculiar honor of naming the 
Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be given 
on the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced, that, on the second day^ there 
should be a general tournament, in which all the knights pres- 
ent, who were desirous to win praise, might take part; and 
being divided into two bands, of equal numbers, might fight it 
out manfully, until the signal was given by Prince John to 
cease the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty was 
then to crown the knight whom the Prince should adjudge to 
have borne himself best in this sev.v.nd day, with a coronet 
composed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


78 


IVANHOE. 


crown. On this second day the knightly games ceased. But 
on that which was to follow, feats of archery, of hull-baiting, 
and other popular amusements, were to be practiced for the 
more immediate amusement of the populace. In this manner 
5 did Prince John endeavor to lay the foundation of a popu- 
larity, which he was perpetually throwing down by some in- 
considerate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings and 
prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The 
^0 sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, 
wealthy, and beautiful, in the northern and midland parts of 
England ; and the contrast of the various dresses of these dig- 
nified spectators rendered the view as gay as it was rich, 
while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial 
15 burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their 
more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle 
of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at the same time, set- 
ting off its splendor. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their usual cry 
20 of “Largesse, largesse, gallant knights! ’’and gold and silver 
pieces were showered on them from the gallery, it being a 
high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards those whom 
the age accounted at once the secretaries and the historians of 
honor. The bounty of the spectators was acknowledged by 
25 the customary shouts of “Love of Ladies — Death of Cham- 
pions— Honor to the Generous— Glory to the Brave!” To 
which the more humble spectators added their acclamations, 
and a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish of their mar- ^ 
tial instruments. When these sounds had ceased, the heraldr, 
30 withdrew from the lists in gay and glittering procession, and 
none remained within them save the marshals of the field, 
who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as statues, 
at the opposite end of the lists. Meantime, the inclosed space 
at the northern extremity of the lists, large as it was, was now 
35 completely crowded with knights desirous to prove their skill 
against the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, 
presented the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, inter- 
mixed with glistening k w^mets, and tall lances, to the extremi- 
ties of which were,* in many cases, attached small pennons of 


IVANHOE. 


79 


about a span’s breadth,, which, fluttering in the air as the 
breeze caught them, joined with the restless motion of the 
feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, chosen 
by lot, advanced slowly into the area ; a single champion 
riding in front, and the other four following in pairs. All 
were splendidly armed, and my Saxon authority (in the War- 
dour Manuscript) records at great length their devices, their 
colors, and the embroidery of their horse trappings. It is un- 
necessary to be particular on these subjects. To borrow lines 
from a contemporary poet, who has written but too little — 

“ The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.’* 

Their escutcheons have long moldered from the walls of their 
castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds and 
shattered ruins — the place that once knew them, knows them 
no more — nay, many a race since theirs has died out and been 
forgotten in the very land which they occupied, with all the 
authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, 
would it avail the reader to know their names, or the evanes- 
cent symbols of their martial rank ! 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds and compelling 
them to move slowly, while, at the same time, they e:^hibited 
their paces, together with the grace and dexterity of the riders. 
As the procession entered the lists, the sound of a wild Bar- 
baric music was heard from behind the tents of the challengers 
where the performers were concealed. It was of Eastern ori- 
gin, having been brought from the Holy Land ; and the mix- 
ture of the cymbals and bells seemed to bid* welcome at once, 
and defiance, to the knights as they advanced. With the eyes 
of an immense concourse of spectators fixed upon them, the 
five knights advanced up the platform upon which the tents 
of the challengers stood, and there separating themselves, each 
touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the shield 
of the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose himself. The 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


80 


IVANHOE. 


lower order of spectators in general — nay, many of the higher 
class, and it is even said several of the ladies, were rather dis- 
appointed at the champions choosing the arms of courtesy. 
For the same sort of persons, who in the present day applaud 
5 most highly the deepest tragedies, were then interested in a 
tournament exactly in proportion to the danger incurred by 
the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the champions 
retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they remained 
10 drawn up in a line ; while the challengers, sallying each from 
his pavilion, mounted their horses, and, headed by Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform, and opposed them- 
selves individually to the knights who had touched their re- 
spective shields. 

15 At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started out 
against each other at full gallop; and such was the superior 
dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, that those opposed 
to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf, rolled on the 
ground. The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing 
20 his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield of his enemy, 
swerved so much from the direct line as to break the weapon 
athwart the person of his opponent — a circumstance which 
was accounted more disgraceful than that of being actually 
unhorsed; because the latter might happen from accident, 
25 whereas the former evinced awkwardness and want of manage- 
ment of the weapon and of the horse. The fifth knight alone 
maintained the honor of his party, and parted fairly with the 
Knight of St. John, both splintering their lances without 
advantage on either side. 

30 The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclamations 
of the heralds, and the clangor of the trumpets, announced 
the triumph of the victors and the defeat of the vanquished, 
The former retreated to their pavilions, and the latter, gather- 
ing themselves up as they could, withdrew from the lists in 
35 disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors concerning 
the redemption of their arms and their horses, which, accord- 
ing to the laws of the tournament, they had forfeited. The 
fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists long enough to 
be greeted by the applauses of the spectators, amongst whom 


IVANHOE. 81 

he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of his companions’ 
mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; and 
although they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the 
advantage decidedly remained with the challengers, not one 
of whom lost his seat or swerved from his charge — misfortunes 
which befell one or two of their antagonists in each encounter. 
The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them seemed to 
be considerably damped by their continued success. Three 
knights only appeared on the fourth entry, who, avoiding the 
shields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented them- 
selves with touching those of the three other knights, who had 
not altogether manifested the same strength and dexterity. 
This politic selection did not alter the fortune of the field, the 
challengers were still successful ; one of their antagonists was 
overthrown, and both the others failed in the attaint^ that is, 
in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist firmly 
and strongly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that the 
weapon might break unless the champion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable pause ; 
nor did it appear that any one was very desirous of renewing 
the contest. The spectators murmured among themselves; 
for, among the challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were 
unpopular from their characters, and the others, except Grant- 
mesnil, were disliked as strangers and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so 
keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advantage gained 
by the Norman challengers, a repeated triumph over the honor 
of England. His own education had taught him no skill in 
the games of chivalry, although, with the arms of his Saxon 
ancestors, he had manifested himself, on many occasions, a 
brave and determined soldier. He looked anxiously to Athel- 
stane, who had learned the accomplishments of the age, as if 
desiring that he should make some personal effort to recover 
the victory which was passing into the hands of the Templar 
and his associates. But, though both stout of heart and strong 
of person, Athelstane had a disposition too inert and unambi- 
tious to make the exertions which Cedric seemed to expect 
from him 
6 ' 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


82 


IVANHOE. 


“The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric in a 
marked tone; “ are you not tempted to take the lance ? ” 

“ I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “ in the me- 
lee ; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.” 

5 Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained 
the Norman word mel^ (to express the general conflict), and 
it evinced some indifference to the honor of the country ; but 
it was spoken by Athelstane, whom he held in such profound 
respect that he would not trust himself to canvass his motives 
10 or his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make any remark, 
for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, “ It was better, 
though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundred, 
than the best man of two.” 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; 
15 but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s meaning, darted 
at him a severe and menacing look; and lucky it was for 
Wamba, perhaps, that the time and place prevented his re- 
ceiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more sensible 
marks of his master’s resentment. 

20 The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, ex- 
cepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — “Love of 
ladies, splintering of lances ! stand forth, gallant knights, fair 
eyes look upon your deeds ! ” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time to time 
25 wild bursts expressive of triumph or deflance, while the clowns 
grudged a holiday which seemed to pass away in inactivity; 
and old knights and nobles lamented in whispers the decay of 
martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their younger days, 
but agreed that the land did not now supply dames of such 
30 transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts of former 
times. Prince John began to talk to his attendants about 
making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the 
prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, 
overthrown two knights, and foiled a third. 

35 At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers con- 
cluded one of those long and high flourishes with which they 
had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered by a soli- 
tary trumpet, which breathed a note of deflance from the north- 
ern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new champion 


IVANHOE. 


8B 


which these sounds announced, and no sooner were the barriers 
opened than he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged 
of a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did not 
greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender 
than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed of steel, 
richly inlaid with gold, and the device on his shield was a 
young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word 
Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. He was mounted on a 
gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists he 
gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering his 
lance. The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and 
something of youthful grace which he displayed in his man- 
ner, won him the favor of the multitude, which some of the 
lower classes expressed by calling out, “ Touch Ealph de Vi- 
pont’s shield — touch the Hospitaller’s shield ; he has the least 
sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain.” 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant hints, 
ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it from 
the lists, and, to theastonishmentof all present, riding straight 
up to the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his 
spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it rung again. 
All stood astonished at his presumption, but none more than 
the redoubted knight whom he had thus defied to mortal com- 
bat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was stand- 
ing carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

“ Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the Templar, 
“and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril your 
life so frankly ? ” 

“I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered the 
Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had re- 
corded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
* ‘ and look your last upon the sun ; for this night thou shalt 
sleep in paradise.” 

“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited 
Knight, ‘ ‘ and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh horse 
and a new lance, for by my honor you will need both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


84 


IVANHOE. 


compelled him in the same manner to move backward through 
the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he re- 
mained stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This feat 
of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the multitude. 

5 However incensed at his adversary for the precautions which 
he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect his 
advice; for his honor was too nearly concerned, to permit his 
neglecting any means which might insure victory over his 
presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for a proved 
10 and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new 
and tough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been 
strained in the previous encounters he had sustained. Lastly, 
he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, 
and received another from his squires. His first had only 
15 borne the general device of his rider, representing two knights 
riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive of the original 
humility and poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had 
since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that finally oc- 
casioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore a 
20 raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing 
the motto, Gare le Corbeau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the 
two extremities of the lists, the public expectation was strained 
to the highest pitch. Few augured the possibility that the en- 
25 counter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet 
his courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes of 
the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the cham- 
pions vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, 
CO and closed in the center of the lists with the shock of a thun- 
derbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to tlie very grasp, 
and it seemed at the moment that both knights had fallen, for 
the shock had made each horse recoil backwards upon its 
haunches. The address of the riders recovered their steeds by 
35 use of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each other 
for an instant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the 
bars of their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring to 
the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance from the 
attendants. 


IVANHOE. 


85 


A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and hand- 
kerchiefs, and general acclamations attested the interest taken 
by the spectators in this encounter; the most equal, as well as 
the best performed, which had graced the day. But no sooner 
had the knights resumed their station, than the clamor of 
applause was hushed into a silence, so deep and so dead that 
it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the combat- 
ants and their horses might recover breath. Prince John with 
his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the onset. The 
champions a second time sprung from their stations, and 
closed in the center of the lists,* with the same speed, the same 
dexterity, the same dolence, but not the same equal fortune 
as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the center 
of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly 
that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight 
reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, 
in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance 
towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, changing his aim almost 
in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a 
mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered 
the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman 
on the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. 
Yet even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high 
reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he 
might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, 
saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground under a cloud of 
dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was 
to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, stung with 
f madness, both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with 
which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and 
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited 
Knight sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. 
The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses be- 
tween them, and reminded them that the laws of the tour- 
nament did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of 
encounter. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


86 


IVANHOE. 


“We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, casting a 
resentful glance at his antagonist ; ‘ ‘ and where there are none 
to separate us.” 

“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “the fault 
5 shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with ax, 
or with sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but 
the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, compelled 
them to separate. The Disinherited Knight returned to his 
10 first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained 
for the rest of the day in an agony of despair. ^ 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for 
a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver or lower part of his 
helmet, announced that he quaffed it “To all true English 
15 hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.” He then 
commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers, 
and desired a herald to announce to them that he should make 
no election, but was willing to encounter them in the order in 
which they pleased to advance against him. 

20 The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armor, was the 
first who took the field. He bore on a white shield a black 
bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous encounters which he 
had undergone, and bearing the arrogant motto. Cave Adsum. 
Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained a slight 
25'but decisive advantage. Both knights broke their lances fairly, 
but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was 
adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter, with Sir Philip Malvoisin, 
he was equally successful, striking that baron so forcibly on 
30 the casque that the laces of the helmet broke, and Malvoisin, 
only saved from falling by being unhelmeted, was declared 
vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat, with De Grantmesnil, the Disinherited V 
Knight showed as much courtesy a^ he had hitherto evinced 
35 courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil’s horse, which was 
young and violent, reared and plunged in the course of the 
career so as to disturb the rider’s aim, and the stranger, declin- 
ing to take the advantage which this accident afforded him, 
raised his lance and passing his antagonist without touching 


IVANHOE. 


87 


him, wheeled his horse and rode back again to his own end of 
the lists, offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a 
second encounter. This De Grrantmesnil declined, avowing 
himself vanquished as much by the courtesy as by the address 
of his opponent. 5 

Kalph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s tri- 
umphs, being hurled to the ground with such force that the 
blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he was borne sense- 
less from the lists. 

t/ The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous 10 
award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that day’s 
honors to the Disinherited Knight. , 


CHAPTER IX. 

In the midst was seen 

A lady of a more majestic mien. 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 
******** 

And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir, 

So nobler than the rest was her attire; 

A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow,* 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand, 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, the marshals 
of the field, were the first to offer their congratulations to the 
victor, praying him, at the same time, to suffer his helmet to 15 
be unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere they 
conducted him to receive the prize of the day’s tourney from 
the hands of Prince John. The Disinherited Knight, with all 
knightly courtesy, declined their request, alleging that he could 
not at this time suffer his face to be seen, for reasons which he 20 
had assigned to the heralds when he entered the lists. The 
marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply ; for amidst the 
frequent and capricious vows by which knights were accus- 
tomed to bind themselves in the days of chivalry, there were 
none more common than those hj which they engaged to re- 25 


88 


IVANHOE. 


main incognito for a certain space, or until some particular 
adventure was achieved. The marshals, therefore, pressed no 
farther into the mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, an- 
nouncing to Prince John the conqueror’s desire to remain un- 
5 known, they requested permission to bring him before his 
Grace, in order that he might receive the reward of his 
valor. 

John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed by the 
stranger; and, being already displeased with the issue of the 
10 tournament, in which the challengers whom he favored had 
been successively defeated by one knight, he answered 
haughtily to the marshals, “ By the light of Our Lady’s brow, 
this same knight hath been disinherited as well of his courtesy 
as of his lands, since he desires to appear before us without 
15 uncovering his face. — Wot ye, my lords,” he said, turning 
round to his train, “ who this gallant can be, that bears him- 
self thus proudly ? ” 

“I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, “nor did I think 
there had been within the four seas that girth Britain a cham- 
20 pion that could bear down these five knights in one day’s 
jousting. By my faith, I shall never forget the force with 
which he shocked De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller was hurled 
from his saddle like a stone from a sling.” 

“Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John, who was 
25 present; “ your Temple champion had no better luck. I saw 
your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, grasping his 
hands full of sand at every turn.” 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have re- 
plied, but was prevented by Prince John. “Silence, sirs!” 
30 he said; “what unprofitable debate have we here ? ” 

“The victor,” said De Wyvil, “still waits the pleasure of 
your Highness.” 

“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “ that he do so wait 
until we learn whether there is not some one who can at least 
35 guess at his name and quality. Should he remain there till 
nightfall, he has had enough work to keep him warm.” 

“ Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “ will do less than 
due honor to the victor, if you compel him to wait till we tell 
your Highness that which we cannot know; at least I can 


IVANHOE. 


89 


form no guess — unless he be one of the good lances who ac- 
companied King Kichard to Palestine, and who are now 
straggling homeward from the Holy Land.” 

“ It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy; “he is 
about the same pitch.” 5 

“Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, rather,” 
said Fitzurse; “Salisbury is bigger in the bones.” A whisper 
arose among the train, but by whom first suggested could not 
be ascertained. “ It might be the King — it might be Richard 
Coeur-de-Lion himself ! ” 10 

“ Over Gods forbode! ” said Prince John, involuntarily turn- 
ing at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking as if 
blighted by a flash of lightning; “ Waldemar ! — De Bracy ! 
brave knights and gentlemen, remember your promises, and 
stand truly by me ! ” 15 

“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; 
“are you so little acquainted with the gigantic limbs of your 
father’s son as to think they can be held within the circumfer- 
ence of yonder suit of armor ? — De Wyvil and Martival, you 
will best serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor to the 20 
throne, and ending an error that has conjured all the blood 
from his cheeks. — Look at him more closely,” he continued; 

“ your Highness will see that he wants three inches of King 
Richard’s height and twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. 
The very horse he backs could not have carried the ponderous 25 
weight of King Richard through a single course.” 

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought forward 
the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden flight of steps, 
which formed the ascent from the lists to Prince John’s throne. 
Still discomposed with the idea that his brother, so much in- 80 
jured, and to whom he was so much indebted, had suddenly 
arrived in his native kingdom, even the distinctions pointed 
out by Fitzurse did not altogether remove the Prince’s appre- 
hensions; and while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy 
upon his valor, he caused to be delivered to him the war-horse 35 
assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the barred visor 
of the mailed form before him an answer might be returned, 
in the deep and awful accents of Richard the Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply to 


90 


IVANHOE. 


the compliment of the Prince, which he only acknowledged 
with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly dressed, 
the animal itself being fully accoutered with the richest war- 
5 furniture ; which, however, scarcely added to the value of the 
noble creature in the eyes of those who were judges. Laying 
one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited 
Knight vaulted at once upon the back of the steed without 
making use of the stirrup, and brandishing aloft his lance, 
10 rode twice around the lists, exhibiting the points and paces of 
the horse with the skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise have been 
attributed to this display, was removed by the propriety shown 
in exhibiting to the best advantage the princely reward with 
15 which he had been just honored, and the Knight was again 
greeted by the acclamations of all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had re- 
minded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must now 
display his good judgment, instead of his valor, by selecting 
20 from among the beauties who graced the galleries a lady, who 
should fill the throne of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and 
deliver the prize of the tourney upon the ensuing day. The 
Prince accordingly made a sign with his truncheon, as the 
Knight passed him in his second career round the lists. The 
25 Knight turned towards the throne, and, sinking his lance, 
until the point was within a foot of the ground, remained mo- 
tionless, as if expecting John’s command; while all admired 
the sudden dexterity with which he instantly reduced his fiery 
steed from a state of violent emotion and high excitation to the 
30 stillness of an equestrian statue. 

“ Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since that is 
the only title by which we can address you, it is now your 
duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair lady, who, as 
Queen of Honor and of Love, is to preside over next day’s festi- 
35 val. If, as a stranger in our land, you should require the aid of 
other judgment to guide your own, we can only say that Alicia, 
the daughter of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at 
our court been long held the first in beauty as in place. Never- 
theless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer on whom 


IVANHOE. 


91 


you please this crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of 
your choice, the election of to-morrow’s Queen will be formal 
and complete. — Raise your lance.” 

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its point 
a coronet of green satin, having around its edge a circle of 
gold, the upper edge of which was relieved by arrow-points 
and hearts placed interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves 
and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the daughter 
of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than one motive, each 
the offspring of a mind which was a strange mixture of care- 
lessness and presumption with low artifice and cunning. He 
wished to banish from the minds of the chivalry around him 
his own indecent and unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess 
Rebecca; he was desirous of conciliating Alicia’s father Walde- 
mar, of whom he stood in awe, and who had more than once 
shown himself dissatisfied during the course of the day’s pro- 
ceedings. He had also a wish to establish himself in the good 
graces of the lady; for John was at least as licentious in his 
pleasures as profligate in his ambition. But besides all these 
reasons he was desirous to raise up against the Disinherited 
Knight (towards whom he already entertained a strong dis- 
like) a powerful enemy in the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, 
who was likely, he thought, highly to resent the injury done 
to his daughter, in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should 
make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery close to that of the Prince, in which the 
Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of triumphant beauty, 
and, pacing forwards as slowly as he had hitherto rode swiftly 
around the lists, he seemed to exercise his right of examin- 
ing the numerous fair faces which adorned that splendid 
circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 
beauties who underwent this examination, during the time it 
was proceeding. Some blushed, some assumed an air of pride 
and dignity, some looked straight forward, and essayed to 
seem utterly unconscious of what was going on, some drew 
back in alarm, which was perhaps affected, some endeavored 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


92 


IVANHOE. 


to forbear smiling^ and there were two or three who laughed 
outright. There were also some who dropped their veils over 
their charms, but as the Wardour Manuscript says these were 
fair ones of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, hav- 
5 ing had their full share of such vanities, they were willing to 
withdraw their claim, in order to give a fair chance to the 
rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in 
which the Lady Rowena was placed, and the expectation of 
10 the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It ipust be owned, that if an interest displayed in his success 
could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the part of the list 
before which he paused had merited his predilection. Cedric 
the Saxon, overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Templar, and 
15 still more so at the miscarriage of his two malevolent neigh- 
bors, Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his body half 
stretched over the balcony, accompanied the victor in each 
course, not with his eyes only, but with his whole heart and 
soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress of the day 
20 with equal attention, though without openly betraying the 
same intense interest. Even the unmoved Athelstane had 
shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, when, calling for 
a huge goblet of Muscadine, he quaffed it to the health of the 
Disinherited Knight. 

25 Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied by the 
Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of the day. 

“Father Abraham!” said Isaac of York, when the first 
course was run betwixt the Templar and the Disinherited 
Knight. “How fiercely that Gentile rides! Ah, the good 
30 horse that was brought all the long way from Barbary, he 
takes no more care of him than if he were a wild ass’s colt— 
and the noble armor, that was worth so many zecchins to 
Joseph Pareira, the armorer of Milan, besides seventy in the 
hundred of profits, he cares for it as little as if he had found it 
35 in the highways ! ” 

“If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said Re- 
becca, “in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce be 
expected to spare his horse and armor.” 

“ Child !” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou knowest 


IVANHOE. 


93 


not what thou speakest. — His neck and limbs are his own, but 
his horse and armor belong to — Holy Jacob ! what was I about 
to say! — Nevertheless, it is a good youth. — See, Eebecca! see, 
he is again about to go up to battle against the Philistine. 
Pray, child — pray for the safety of the good youth, — and of 
the speedy horse, and the rich armor. — God of my fathers! ” he 
again exclaimed, ‘‘ he hath conquered, and the uncircumcised 
Philistine hath fallen before his lance, — even as Og the King 
of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the Amorites, fell before the 
sword of our fathers ! — Surely he shall take their gold and 
their silver, and their war-horses, and their armor of brass 
and of steel, for a prey and for a spoil.” 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during every 
course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty calcula- 
tion concerning the value of the horse and armor which were 
forfeited to the champion upon each new success. There had 
been therefore no small interest taken in the success of the 
Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied the part of the 
lists before which he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesitation, 
the champion of the day remained stationary for more than a 
minute, while the eyes of the silent audience were riveted upon 
his motions; and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the 
point of his lance, he deposited the coronet which it sup- 
ported at the feet of the fair Rowepa. The trumpets instantly 
sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing 
with suitable penalties those who should be disobedient to her 
authority. They then repeated their cry of Largesse, to which 
Cedric, in the height of his joy, replied by ^n ample donative, 
and to which Athelstane, though less promptly, added one 
equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Norman 
descent, who were as much unused to see the preference given 
to a Saxon beauty as the Norman nobles were to sustain defeat 
in the games of chivalry which they themselves had introduced. 
But these sounds of disaffection were drowned by the popular 
shout of “ Long live the Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful 
Queen of Love and of Beauty ! ” To which many in the lower 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


94 


IVANHOE. 


area added, “ Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the race 
of the immortal Alfred ! ” 

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince John, 
and to those around him, he saw himself nevertheless obliged to 
5 confirm the nomination of the victor, and accordingly calling 
to horse, he left his throne ; and mounting his jennet, accom- 
panied by his train, he again entered the lists. The Prince 
paused a moment beneath the gallery of Lady Alicia, to whom 
he paid his compliments, observing, at the same time, to those 
10 around him — “By my halidom, sirs! if the Knight’s feats in 
arms have shown that he hath limbs and sinews, his choice 
hath no less proved that his eyes are none of the clearest.” 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s mis- 
fortune, not perfectly to understand the characters of those 
15 whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse was rather 
offended than pleased at the Prince stating thus broadly an 
opinion that his daughter had been slighted. 

“ I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “ more precious or 
inalienable than that of each free knight to choose his ladylove 
20 by his own judgment. My daughter courts distinction from no 
one ; and in her own character, and in her own sphere, will never 
fail to receive the full proportion of that which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if to 
give vent to his vexation, he made the animal bound forward 
25 to the gallery where Kowena was seated, with the crown still 
at her feet. 

“ Assume,” he said, “fair lady, the mark of your sovereignty , 
to which none vows homage more sincerely than ourself, John 
of Anjou; and if it please you to-day, with your noble sire and 
,0 friends, to grace our banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shall 
learn to know the empress to whose service we devote to- 
morrow.” 

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her in his 
native Saxon. 

35 “The Lady Rowena,” he said, “possesses not the language 
in which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain her part in 
your festival. I also, and the noble Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh, speak only the language, and practice only the manners^ 
of our fathers. We therefore decline with thanks your High^ 


IVANHOE. 


95 


ness’s courteous invitation to the banquet. To-morrow, the 
Lady Eowena will take upon her the state to which she has 
been called by the free election of the victor Knight, confirmed 
by the acclamations of the people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed it upon Eowena’s 
head, in token of her acceptance of the temporary authority 
assigned to her. 

“ What says he? ” said Prince John, affecting not to under- 
stand the Saxon language, in which, however, he was well 
skilled. The purport of Cedric's speech was repeated to him. 
in French. “ It is well,” he said; “to-morrow we will ourself 
conduct this mute sovereign to her seat of dignity. — You, at 
least. Sir Knight,” he added, turning to the victor, who had 
remained near the gallery, “ will this day share our banquet? ” 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and hur- 
ried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and the neces- 
sity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

“ It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily ; ‘ ‘ although unused 
to such refusals, we will endeavor to digest our banquet as we 
may, though ungraced by the most successful in arms, and 
his elected Queen of Beauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glittering 
train, and his turning his steed for that purpose, was the signal 
for the breaking up and dispersion of the spectators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended pride, 
especially when combined with conscious want of desert, John 
had hardly proceeded three paces, ere again, turning around, 
he fixed an eye of stern resentment upon the yeoman who had 
displeased him in the early part of the day, and issued his 
commands to the men-at-arms who stood near. — “On your 
life, suffer not that fellow to escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with the 
same unvaried steadiness which had marked his former deport- 
ment, saying, with a smile, ‘ ‘ I have no intention to leave 
Ashby until the day after to-morrow. — I must see how Staf- 
fordshire and Leicestershire can draw their bows — the forests 
of Needwood and Charnwood must rear good archers.” 

“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in direct 
reply, ‘ ‘ I will see how he can draw his own ; and woe betide 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


96 IVANHOE. 

him unless his skill should prove some apologj^ for his inso 
leiice! ” 

“ It is full time,” said De Bracy, “that the outrecuidance of 
these peasants should be restrained by some striking example.” 

5 Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron was 
not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged up his 
shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed his retreat 
from the lists, and the dispersion of the multitude became 
general. 

10 In various routes, according to the different quarters from 
which they came, and in groups of various numbers, the spec- 
tators were seen retiring over the plain. By far the most 
numerous part streamed towards the town of Ashby, where 
many of the distinguished persons were lodged in the castle, 
15 and where others found accommodation in the town itself. 
Among these were most of the knights who had already ap- 
peared in the tournament, or who proposed to fight there the 
ensuing day, and who, as they rode slowly along, talking 
over the events of the day, were greeted with loud shouts by 
20 the populace. The same acclamations were bestowed upon 
Prince John, although he was indebted for them rather to the 
splendor of his appearance and train than to the popularity 
of his character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better-merited 
25 acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, anxious to 
withdraw himself from popular notice, he accepted the accom- 
modation of one of those pavilions pitched at the extremities 
of the lists, the use of which was courteously tendered him by 
the marshals of the field. On his retiring to his tent, many 
30 who had lingered in the lists, to look upon and form conjectures 
concerning him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men 
lately crowded together in one place, and agitated by the same 
passing events, were now exchanged for the distant hum of 
35 voices of different groups retreating in all directions, and these 
speedily died away in silence. No other sounds were heard 
save the voices of the menials wlio stripped the galleries of 
their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in safety for 
the night, and wrangled among themselves for the half-used 


IVANHOE. 


97 


bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which had been 
served round to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge was 
erected ; and these now began to glimmer through the twilight, 
announcing the toil of the armorers, which was to continue 
through the whole night, in order to repair or alter the suits of 
armor to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, from 
two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and kept watch 
"’uring the night. 


CHAPTER X. 

Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak. 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 

Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barabbas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta, 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pavilion 
than squires and pages in abundance tendered their services 
to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to offer him the re- 
freshment of the bath. Their zeal, on this occasion, was 
perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since every one desired to 
know who the knight was that had gained so many laurels, 
yet had refused, even at the command of Prince John, to lift 
his visor or to name his name. But their officious inquisitive- 
ness was not gratified. The Disinherited Knight refused all 
other assistance save that of his own squire, or rather yeoman 
— a clownish-looking man, who, wrapt in a cloak of dark- 
colored felt, and 'having his head and face half-buried in a 
Norman bonnet made of black fur, seemed to affect the incognito 
as much as his master. All others being excluded from the 
tent, this attendant relieved his master from the more burden- 
some parts of his armor, and placed food and wine before him, 
which the exertions of the day rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere his menial 
announced to him that five men, each leading a barbed steed, 
7 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


98 


IVANHOE. 


desired to speak with him. The Disinherited Knight had ex- 
changed his armor for the long robe usually worn by tliose of 
his condition, which, being furnished with a hood, concealed 
the features, when such was the pleasure of the wearer, almost 
5 as completely as the visor of the helmet itself ; but the twilight, 
which was now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered a 
disguise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face of an 
individual chanced to be particularly well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth to the 
10 front of his tent, and found in attendance the squires of the 
challengers, whom he easily knew by their russet and black 
dresses, each of whom led his master’s charger, loaded with the 
armor in which he had that day fought. 

“ According to the laws of chivalry,” said the foremost of 
15 these men, “I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the redoubted 
Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, styling your- 
self, for the present, the Disinherited Knight, of the horse and 
armor used by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s 
Passage of Arms, leaving it with your nobleness to retain or to 
20 ransom the same, according to your pleasure ; for such is the 
law of arms.” 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, and 
then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited Knight. 

“ To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing those who 
25 had last spoken, “ and to your honorable and valiant masters, 
I have one common reply. Commend me to the noble knights, 
your masters; and say I should do ill to deprive them of steeds 
and arms which can never be used by braver cavaliers. — I 
would I could here end my message to these gallant knights ; 
30 but being, as I term myself, in truth and earnest, the 'Disin- 
herited, I must be thus far bound to your masters, that they 
will, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and 
armor, since that which I wear I can hardly term mine own.” 

“We stand commissioned-, each of us,” answered the squire 
35 of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf , ‘ ‘ to offer a hundred zecchins in 
ransom of these horses and suits of armor.” 

“ It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “ Half the 
sum my present necessities compel me to accept ; of the 
remaining half, distribute one moiety among yourselves, sir 


IVANHOE. 


99 


squires, and divide the other half betwixt the heralds and the 
pursuivants, and minstrels, and attendants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, expressed 
their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity not often prac- 
ticed, at least upon a scale so extensive. The Disinherited 6 
Knight then addressed his discourse to Baldwin, the squire of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert. ‘ ‘ From your master, ” said he, ‘ ‘ I will 
accept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in my name, that 
our strife is not ended — no, not till we have fought as well 
with swords as with lances — as well on foot as on horseback. 10 
To this mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall not 
forget the challenge. — Meantime, let him be assured that I 
hold him not as one of his companions, with whom I can with 
pleasure exchange courtesies ; but rather as one with whom I 
stand upon terms of mortal defiance.” ’ 15 

“My master,” answered Baldwin, “knows howto requite 
scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as courtesy 
with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept from him any 
share of the ransom at which you have rated the arms of the 
other knights, I must leave his armor and his horse here, being 20 
well assured that he will never deign to mount the one nor 
wear the other.” 

“ You have spoken well, good Squire,” said the Disinherited 
Knight, “ well and boldly, as it beseemeth him to speak who 
answers for an absent master. Leave not, however, the horse 25 
and armor here. Eestore them to thy master; or, if he scorns 
to accept them, retain them,- good friend, for thine own use. 

So far as they are mine, I bestow them upon you freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his com- 
panions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the pavilion. 30 

“Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, “the 
reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in my hands.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ for a Saxon swineherd, have not ill 
played the personage of a Norman squire-at-arms.” 

“ Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “ thou hast 35 
ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing should dis- 
cover thee.” 

“ Tush ! ” said Gurth, “ I fear discovery from none, saving 
my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I could never dis- 


100 


lYANHOE. 


cover whether he were most knave or fool. Yet I conld scarce 
clioose but laugh, when my old master passed so near to me, 
dreaming all the wliile that Gurth was keeping his porkers 
many a mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Eotherwood. 

5 If I am discovered — ” 

“ Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ thou kno west my 
promise.” 

“ Nay, for that matter,” said Gurth, ‘‘ I will never fail my 
friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough hide, that 
10 will bear knife or scourge as well as any boar’s hide in my 
herd.” 

“Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, 
Gurth,” said the Knight. “ Meanwhile, I pray you to accept 
these ten pieces of gold.” 

15 “I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 
“ than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

“Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his master, 
“ and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay himself 
for the horse and arms with which his credit supplied me.” 

20 “ Nay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will not do.” 

“ How, knave,” replied his master, “ wilt thou not obey my 
commands ? ” 

“ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian commands,” 
replied Gurth ; “ but this is none of these. To suffer the Jew 
25 to pay himself would be dishonest, for it would be cheating 
my master; and unreasonable, for it were the part of a fool; 
and unchristian, since it would be plundering a believer to en- 
rich an infidel.” 

“ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” said 
30 the Disinherited Knight. 

“ I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his cloak 
and leaving the apartment; “and it will go hard,” he mut- 
tered, “ but I content him with one-half of his own asking.” 
So saying, he departed, and left the Disinherited Knight to his 
35 own perplexed ruminations; which, upon more accounts than 
it is now possible to communicate to the reader, were of a 
nature peculiarly agitating and painful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, or 
rather to a country liouse in its vicinity belonging to a wealthy 


lYANHOE. 


101 


Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and retinue had 
taken up their quarters ; the Jews, it is well known, being as 
liberal in exercising the duties of hospitality and charity 
among their own people, as they were alleged to be reluctant 
and churlish in extending them to those whom they termed 
Gentiles, and whose treatment of them certainly merited little 
hospitality at their hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished with 
decorations of an Oriental taste, Kehecca was seated on a heap 
of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a low platform 
that surrounded the chamber, served, like the estrada of the 
Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. She was watching the 
motions of her father with a look of anxious and filial affec- 
tion, while he paced the apartment with a dejected mien and 
disordered step; sometimes clasping his hands together — 
sometimes casting his eyes to the roof of the apartment, as 
one who labored under great mental tribulation. ‘ ‘ O Jacob ! ” 
he exclaimed — “O all ye twelve Ploly Fathers of our tribe! 
what a losing venture is this for one who hath duly kept every 
jot and tittle of the law of Moses. — Fifty zecchins wrenched 
from me at one clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant ! ” 

“ But, father,” said Rebecca, “you seemed to give the gold 
to Prince John willingly.” 

“ Willingly ? The blotch of Egypt upon him ! — Willingly, 
saidst thou ? — Ay, as willingly as when, in the Gulf of Lyons, 
I flung over my merchandise to lighten the ship, while she 
labored in the tempest — robed the seething billows in my choice 
silks — perfumed their briny foam with myrrh and aloes — 
enriched their caverns with gold and silver work ! And was 
not that an hour of unutterable misery, though my own hand 
made the sacrifice ? ” 

‘ ‘ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save our 
lives,” answered Rebecca, “and the God of our fathers has 
since blessed your store and your gettings.” 

“ Ay,” answered Isaac, “but if the tyrant lays hold on them 
as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while he is robbing 
me ? — O daughter, disinherited and wandering as we are, the 
worst evil which befalls our race is, that when we are wronged 
and plundered, all the world laughs around, and we are com* 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


102 


IVANHOE. 


pelled to suppress our sense of injury, and to smile Lcvmely, 
when we would revenge bravely.” 

“ Think not thus of it, my father,” said Eebecca; we also 
have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppressive as they 
5 are, are in some sort dependent on the dispersed children of 
Zion, whom they despise and persecute. Without the aid of 
our wealth, they could neither furnish forth their hosts in war, 
nor their triumphs in peace; and the gold which we lend them 
returns with increase to our coffers. We are like the herb 
10 which flourisheth most when it is most trampled on. Even 
this day’s pageant had not proceeded without the consent of 
the despised Jew, who furnished the means.” 

“ Daughter,” said Isaac, “ thou hast harped upon another 
string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich armor equal 
15 to the full profit of my adventure with our Kirjath Jairam of 
Leicester — there is a dead loss too — ay, a loss which swallows 
up the gains of a week ; ay, of the space between two Sabbaths 
— and yet it may end better than I now think, for ’tis a good 
youth.” 

20 “ Assuredly,” said Eebecca, “you shall not repent you of re- 

quiting the good deed received of the stranger knight.” 

“I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “and I trust too in the 
rebuilding of Zion ; but as well do I hope with my own bodily 
eyes to see the walls and battlements of the new Temple, as to 
25 see a Christian, yea, the very best of Christians, repay ‘a debt 
to a Jew, unless under the awe of the judge and jailer.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through the 
apartment ; and Eebecca, perceiving that her attempts at con- 
solation only served to awaken new subjects of complaint, 
30 wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — a prudential line 
of conduct, and we recommend to all who set up for comforters 
and advisers, to follow it in the like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish servant 
entered the apartment, and placed upon the table two silver 
35 lamps, fed with perfumed oil ; the richest wines, and the most 
delicate refreshments, were at the same time displayed by 
'.another Israelitish domestic on a small ebony table, inlaid with 
silver; for, in the interior of their houses, the Jews refused 
themselves no expensive indulgences. At the same time the 


IVANHOE. 


103 


servant informed Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Chris- 
tians, while conversing among themselves) desired to speak 
with him. He that would live by traffic, must hold himself at 
the disposal of every one claiming business with him. Isaac 
at once replaced on the table the untasted glass of Greek wine 5 
which he had just raised to his lips, and saying hastily to his 
daughter, ‘‘Rebecca, veil thyself,” commanded the stranger to 
be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a screen 
of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the door opened, and 10 
Gurth entered, wrapt in the ample folds of his Norman mantle. 
His appearance was rather suspicious than prepossessing, espe- 
cially as, instead of doffing his bonnet ; he pulled it still deeper 
over his rugged brow. 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York ? ” said Gurth, in Saxon. 15 
“ I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language (for his traffic 
had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain familiar to him) 

— “ and who art thou ? ” 

“ That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“ As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac ; “ for with- 20 
out knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with thee ? ” 
“Easily,” answered Gurth ; “I, being to pay money, must 
know that I deliver it to the right person ; thou, who are to 
receive it, will not, I think, care very greatly by whose hands 
it is delivered.” 25 

“ O,” said the Jew, “ you are come to pay moneys ? Holy 
Father Abraham ! that altereth our relation to each other. 
And from whom dost thou bring it ? ” 

“ From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “ victor in this 
day’s tournament. It is the price of the armor supplied to him 30 
by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy recommendation. The 
steed is restored to thy stable. I desire to know the amount 
of the sum which I am to pay for the armor.” 

“ I said he was a good youth! ” exclaimed Isaac, with joyful 
exultation. “ A cup of wine will do thee no harm,” he added, 35 
filling and handing to the swineherd a richer draught than 
Gurth had ever before tasted. “ And how much money,” con- 
tinued Isaac, ‘ ‘ hast thou brought with thee ? ” 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” said G^rth, setting down the cup, whaf) 


104 


IVANHOE. 


nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true Christians are 
fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as the draff we give to 
hogs! — What money have I brought with me ? ” continued the 
Saxon, when he had finished this uncivil ejaculation, “even 
shut a small sum; something in hand the whilst. What, 
Isaac! thou must bear a conscience, though it be a Jewish 
one.” 

“Nay, but,” said Isaac, “ thy master has won goodly steeds 
and rich armors with the strength of his lance, and of his right 
iohand — but ’tis a good youth — the Jew will take these in pres- 
ent payment, and render him back the surplus.” 

“ My master has disposed of them already,” said Gurth. 

“ Ah ! that was wrong,” said the Jew, “ that was the part of 
a fool. No Christian here could buy so many horses and ar- 
ismor — no Jew except myself would give him half the values. 
But thou hast a hundred zecchins with thee in that bag,” said 
Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak ; “ it is a heavy one.” 

“ I have heads for crossbow bolts in it,” said Gurth, readily. 

“ Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating between 
20 habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be liberal in the 
present instance, “if I should say that I would take eighty 
zecchins for the good steed and the rich armor, wliich leaves 
me not a guilder’s profit, have you money to pay me 1 ” 

“ Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded was more 
25 reasonable than he expected, ‘ ‘ and it will leave my master nigh 
penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your least offer, I must be 
content.” 

“ Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the Jew. “ Ah! 
eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit for the usages 
30 of the moneys ; and, besides, the good horse may have suffered 
wrong in this day’s encounter. O, it was a hard and a danger- 
ous meeting! man and steed rushing on each other like wild 
bulls of Bashan! The horse cannot but have had wrong.” 

“ And I say,” replied Gurth, “ he is sound, wind and limb; 
35 and you may see him now, in your stable. And I say, over 
and above, that seventy zecchins is enougli for the armor, and 
I hope a Christian’s word is as good as a Jew’s. If you will 
not take seventy, I will carry this bng” (and he shook it till 
the contents jingled) “back to my master.” 


IVANHOE* 


105 


Nay, nay! ” said Isaac; “ lay down the talents — the shek- 
els — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt" see I will consider thee 
liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied ; and telling out eighty zecchins 
upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him an acquittance 
for the horse and suit of armor. The Jew’s hand trembled for 
joy as he wrapped up the first seventy pieces of gold. The last 
ten he told over with much deliberation, pausing, and saying 
something as he took each piece from the table, and dropt it 
into his purse. It seemed as if his avarice were struggling 
with his better nature, and compelling him to pouch zecchin 
after zecchin, Avhile his generosity urged him to restore some 
part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation to his agent. 
His whole speech ran nearly thus: 

“ Seven ty-one — seventy-two; thy master is a good youth — 
seventy-three, an excellent youth — seventy -four — that piece 
hath been dipt within the ring — seventy -five — and that look- 
eth light of weight — seventy-six — when thy master^ wants 
money, let him come to Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that 
is, with reasonable security.” Here he made a considerable 
pause, and Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces 
might escape the fate of their comrades; but the enumeration 
proceeded. — “Seventy-eight — thou art a good fellow — seventy- 
nine — and deservest something for thyself — ” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last zecchin, 
intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. He weighed it 
upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring by dropping it 
upon the table. Had it rung too fiat, or had it felt a hair’s 
breadth too light, generosity had carried the day ; but, unhap- 
pily for Gurth, the chime was full and true, the zecchin plump, 
newly coined, and a grain above weight. Isaac could not find 
in his heart to part with it, so dropt it into his purse as if in 
absence of mind, with the words, “ Eighty completes the tale, 
and I trust thy master will reward thee handsomely. — Surely,” 
he added, looking earnestly at the bag, “ thou hast more coins 
in that pouch ? ” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a laugh, 
as he replied, “About the same quantity which thou hast just 
told over so carefully.” He then folded the quittance, and put 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


106 


IVANHOE. 


it under his cap, adding, — “ Peril of thy heard, Jew, see that 
this be full and ample! ” He filled himself, unbidden, a third 
goblet of wine, and left the apartment without ceremony. 

“ Eebecca,” said the Jew, “ that Ishmaelite hath gone some- 
5 what beyond me. Nevertheless his master is a good youth — 
ay, and I am well pleased that he hath gained shekels of gold 
and shekels of silver, even by the speed of his horse and by 
the strength of his lance, which, like that of Goliath the Philis- 
tine, might vie with a weaver s beam.” 

10 As he turned to receive Eebecca’s answer, he observed, that 
during his chaffering with Gurth, she had left the apartment 
un perceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, hav- 
ing reached the dark antechamber or hall, was puzzling about 
15 to discover the entrance, when a figure in white, shown by a 
small silver lamp which she held in her hand, beckoned him 
into a side apartment. Gurth had some reluctance to obey the 
summons. Eough and impetuous as a wild boar, where only 
earthly force was to he apprehended, he had all the character- 
20 istic terrors of a Saxon respecting fauns, forest-fiends, white 
women, and the whole of the superstitions which his ancestors 
had brought with them from the wilds of Germany. He re- 
membered, moreover, that he was in the house of a Jew, a 
people who, besides the other unamiable qualities which popular 
25 report ascribed to them, were supposed to be profound necro- 
mancers and cahalists. Nevertheless, after a moment’s pause, 
he obeyed the beckoning summons of the apparition, and fol- 
lowed her into the apartment which she indicated, where he 
found to his joyful surprise that his fair guide was the beau- 
30 tiful Jewess whom he had seen at the tournament, and a short 
time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with Isaac, 
which he detailed accurately. 

“My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” said Ee- 
35 becca; “ he owes thy master deeper kindness than these arms 
and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What sum 
didst thou pay my father even now ? ” 

“Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the question. 

“In this purse,” said Eebecca. “thou wilt find a hundred. 


IVANHOE. 


107 


Restore to thy master that which is his due, and enrich thy- 
self with the remainder. Haste — begone — stay not to render 
thanks ! and beware how you pass through this crowded town, 
where thou mayst easily lose both thy burden and thy life. — 
Reuben,” she added, clapping her hands together, “ light forth 5 
this stranger, and fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Reuben, a dark-browed and black- bearded Israelite, obeyed 
her summons, wuth a torch in his hand; undid the outward 
door of the house, and conducting Gurth across a paved court, 
let him out through a wicket in the entrance-gate, which he 10 
closed behind him with such bolts and chains as would well 
have become that of a prison. 

“By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the dark 
avenue, “ this is no Jewess, but an angel from heaven! Ten 
zecchins from my brave young master — twenty from thisW 
pearl of Zion — Oh, happy day! — Such another, Gurth, will 
redeem thy bondage, and make thee a brother as free of thy 
guild as the best. And then do I lay down my swineherd’s 
horn and staff, and take the freeman’s sword and buckler, and 
follow my young master to the death, without hiding either 20 
my face or my name.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


1st Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you, 
If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all travelers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends, — 

1st Out. That’s not so, sir, we are your ^nemies. 

2d Out. Peace I we’ll hear him. 

Sd Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 

For he’s a proper man. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 


The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet concluded ; 
indeed, he himself became partly of that mind, when, after 
passing one or two straggling houses which stood in the out- 
skirts of the village, he found himself in a deep lane, running 25 
between two banks overgrown with hazel and holly-, while 
here and there a dwarf oak flung its arms altogether across 


108 


IVANHOE. 


the path. The lane was moreover much rutted and broken up 
by the carriages which had recently transported articles of 
various kinds to the tournament; and it was dark, for the 
banks and bushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

5 From the village were heard the distant sounds of revelry, 
mixed occasionally with loud laughter, sometimes broken by 
screams, and sometimes by wild strains of distant music. All 
these sounds, intimating the disorderly state of the town, 
crowded with military nobles and their dissolute attendants, 
10 gave Gurth some uneasiness. “Tlie Jewess was right,’' he 
said to himself. “ By heaven and St. Dunstan, I would I were 
safe at my journey’s end with all this treasure! Here are 
such numbers, I will not say of arrant thieves, but of errant 
knights and errant squires, errant monks and errant min- 
15 strels, errant jugglers and errant jesters, that a man with a 
single merk would be in danger, much more a poor swine- 
herd with a whole bagful of zecchins. Would I were out of 
the shade of these infernal bushes, that I might at least see any 
of St. Nicholas’s clerks before they spring on my shoulders.” 
20 Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain the 
open common to which the lane led, but was not so fortunate 
as to accomplish his object. Just as he attained the upper end 
of the lane, wliere the underwood was thickest, four men 
sprung upon him, even as his fears anticipated, two from each 
25 side of the road, and seized him so fast, tliat resistance, if at 
first practicable, would have been now too late. — “Surrender 
your charge,” said one of them; “ we are the deliverers of the 
commonwealth, who ease every man of his burden.” 

“You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” muttered 
30 Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even by the 
pressure of immediate violence, “ had I it but in my power to 
give three strokes in its defense.” 

“ We shall see that presently,” said the robber, and speaking 
to his companions, he added, “ bring along the knave, I see 
35 he would have his head broken, as well as his purse cut, and 
so be let blood in two veins at once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, and 
having been dragged somewhat roughly over the bank, on tlie 
left-hand side of the lane, found himself in a straggling 


IVANHOE. 


109 


thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open common. He was 
compelled to follow his rough conductors into the very depti* 
of this cover, where they stopped unexpectedly in an irregular 
open space, free in a great measure from trees, and on which, 
therefore, the beams of the moon fell without much interrup- 5 
tion from bough and leaves. Here his captors were joined by 
two other persons, apparently belonging to the gang. They 
had short swords by their sides, and quarter-staves in their 
hands, and Gurth could now observe that all six wore visors, 
which rendered their occupation a matter of no question, even 10 
had their former proceedings left it in doubt. 

What money hast thou, churl ? ” said one of the thieves. 

“ Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered Gurth, 
doggedly. 

‘‘A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers; ‘‘a Saxon hath 15 
thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village ! An undeni- 
able and unredeemable forfeit of all he hath about him.” 

“ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. 

‘ ‘ Thou art an ass, ” replied one of the thieves ; ‘ ‘ three quarts 
of double ale had rendered thee as free as thy master, ay, and 20 
freer too, if he be a Saxon like thyself.” 

“Asad truth,” replied Gurth; “but if these same thirty 
zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose my hands, 
and I will pay them to you.” 

“Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some authority 25 
over the others; “this bag which thou bearest, as I can feel 
through thy cloak, contains more coin than thou hast told us of.” 

“It is the good knight my master’s,” answered Gurth, “of 
which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, had you been 
satisfied with working your will upon mine own property.” ZO 

“ Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “ I warrant 
thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so devoutly but what 
thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if thou deal uprightly with 
us. Meantime render up thy trust for the time.” So saying, 
he took from Gurth’s breast the large leathern pouch, in which 35 
the purse given him by Rebecca was inclosed, as well as the 
rest of the zecchins, and then continued his interrogation,— 

“ Who is thy master ? ” 

“ The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. 


110 


IVANHOE. 


“ Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “ won the prize in 
to-day’s tourney ? What is his name and lineage ? ” 

“ It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “that they be con- 
cealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn naught of 
5 them.” 

“ What is thine own name and lineage ? ” 

“ To tell that,” said Gurth, “ might reveal my master’s.” 
“Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber, “but of that 
anon. How comes thy master by this gold ? Is it of his in- 
10 heritance, or by what means hath it accrued to him ? ” 

“By his good lance,” answered Gurth. — “ These bags con- 
tain the ransom of four good horses, and four good suits of 
armor.” 

“ How much is there ? ” demanded the robber. 

15 Two hundred zecchins.” 

“Only two hundred zecchins!” said the bandit; “your 
master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put them 
to a cheap ransom. Name those who paid the gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

20 “The armor and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, at what ransom were they held ? — Thou seest thou canst 
not deceive me.” 

“My master,” replied Gurth, “will take naught from the 
Templar save his life’s blood. They are on terms of mortal 
25 defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse together.” 

“Indeed !” repeated the robber, and paused after he had 
said the word. “ And what wert thou now doing at Ashby 
with such a charge in thy custody ? ” 

“I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” re- 
oO plied Gurth, “the price of a suit of armor with which he 
fitted my master for this tournament.” 

‘ ‘ And how much didst thou pay to Isaac ? — Methinks to 
judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins in this 
pouch.” 

35 “I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “ eighty zecchins, and he 
restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

“How! what ! ” exclaimed all the robbers at once; “ darest 
thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such improbable lies ? ” 

“ What I tell you,” said Gurth, “is as true as the moon is 


IVANHOE. 


Ill 


in heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken purse within 
the leathern pouch, and separate from the rest of the gold.” 

“ Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “ thou speakest of 
a Jew — of an Israelite, — as unapt to restore gold as the dry 
sand of his deserts to return the cup of water which the pil- 5 
grim spills upon them.” 

“There is no more mercy in them,” said another of the 
banditti, “than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.” 

“ It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 

“ Strike alight instantly,” said the Captain; “ I will examine 10 
this said purse ; and if it be as this fellow says, the Jew’s bounty 
is little less miraculous than the stream which relieved his 
fathers in the wilderness.” 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber proceeded 
to examine the purse. The others crowded around him, and 15 
even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed their grasp while they 
stretched their necks to see the issue of the search. Availing 
himself of their negligence, by a sudden exertion of strength 
and activity, Gurth shook himself free of their hold, and might 
have escaped, could he have resolved to leave his master’s 20 
property behind him. But such was no part of his intention. 

He wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fellows, strvick 
down the Captain, who was altogether unaware of his purpose, 
and had well-nigh repossessed himself of the pouch and treas- 
ure. The thieves, however, were too nimble for him, and again 25 
secured both the bag and the trusty Gurth. 

“ Knave ! ” said the Captain, getting up, “ thou hast broken 
my head ; and with other men of our sort thou wouldst fare 
the worse for thy insolence. But thou shalt know thy fate in- 
stantly. First let us speak of thy master; the knight’s matters 30 
must go before the squire’s, according to due order of chivalry. 
Stand thou fast in the mean time — if thou stir again, thou shalt 
have that will make thee quiet for life. — Comrades ! ” he then 
said, addressing* his gang, “this purse is embroidered with 
Hebrew characters, and I well believe the yeoman’s tale is true. 35 
The errant knight, his master, must needs pass us toll-free. 

He is too like ourselves for us to make booty of him, since dogs 
should not worry dogs where wolves and foxes are to be found 
in abundance.” 


112 


IVANHOE. 


‘ ‘ Like us ? ” answered one of the gang ; “ I should like to hear 
how that is made good.” 

“Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “ is he not poor 
and disinherited as we are ?— Doth he not win his substance at 
5 the sword’s point as we do ? — Hath he not beaten Front-de- 
Boeuf and Malvoisin, even as we would beat them if we could ? 
Is he not the enemy to life and death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
whom we have so much reason to fear ? And were all this 
otherwise, wouldst thou have us show a worse conscience than 
10 an unbeliever, a Hebrew Jew ? ” 

“ Nay, that were a shame,” muttered the other fellow ; “ and 
yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gandelyn, we had 
no such scruples of conscience. And this insolent peasant, — 
he too, I warrant me, is to be dismissed scatheless ? ” 

15 “ Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Captain. — ‘ ‘ Here, 

fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, “canst thou use the 
staff, that thou startst to it so readily ? ” 

“ I think,” said Gurth, “ thou shouldst be best able to reply 
to that question.” 

20 “Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” replied 
the Captain ; “ do as much for this fellow, and thou shalt pass 
scot-free; and if thou dost not — why, by my faith, as thou art 
such a sturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom myself. — * 
Take thy staff. Miller,” he added, “ and keep thy head; and do 
25 you others let the fellow go, and give him a staff — there is 
light enough to lay on load by.” 

The two champions being alike armed with quarter-staves, 
stepped forward into the center of the open space, in order to 
have the full benefit of the moonlight ; the thieves in the mean- 
30 time laughing, and crying to their comrade, “Miller ! beware 
thy toll-dish.” The Miller, on the other hand, holding his 
quarter-staff by the middle, and making it flourish round his 
head after the fashion which the French call/a^Ve le moulhiet, 
exclaimed boastfully, “ Come on, churl, an thou darest t thou 
35 shalt feel the strength of a miller’s thumb ! ” 

“ If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly, mak- 
ing his weapon play around his head with equal dexterity, 
“ thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid thee de- 
fiance.” 


IVANHOE. 


113 


So saying, the two champions closed together, and for a few 
minutes they displayed great equality in strength, courage, and 
skill, intercepting and returning the blows of their adversary 
with the most rapid dexterity, while, from the continued clatter 
of their weapons, a person at a distance might have supposed 5 
that there were at least six persons engaged on each side. Less 
obstinate, and even less dangerous combats, have been de- 
scribed in good heroic verse ; but that of Gurth and the Miller 
must remain unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do justice 
to its eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play be 10 
out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these bold 
champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to lose tem- 
per at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at hearing the 
laughter of his companions, who, as usual in such cases, en- 15 
joyed his vexation. This was not a state of mind favorable 
to the noble game of quarter-staff, in which, as in ordinary 
cudgel-playing, the utmost coolness is requisite; and it gave 
Gurth, whose temper was steady, though surly, the oppor- 
tunity of acquiring a decided advantage, in availing himself 20 
of which he displayed great mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows with 
either end of his weapon alternately, and striving to come to 
half-staff distance, while Gurth defended himself against the 
attack, keeping his hands about a yard asunder, and covering 25 
himself by shifting his weapon with great celerity, so as to 
protect his head and body. Thus did he maintain the defensive, 
making his eye, foot, and hand keep true time, until, observ- 
ing his antagonist to lose wind, he darted the staff at his face 
with his left hand ; and as the Miller endeavored to parry the 30 
thrust, he slid his right hand down to his left, and with the 
full swing of the weapon struck his opponent on the left side 
of the head, who instantly measured his length upon the green- 
sward. 

‘‘Well and yeomanly done!” shouted the robbers; “fair 35 
play and old England forever ! Tlie Saxon hath saved both his 
purse and his hide, and the Miller has met his match.” 

“Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the Captain, 
addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the general voice, 

8 


114 


IVANHOE. 


“ and I will cause two of my comrades to guide thee by the 
best way to thy master’s pavilion, and to guard thee from 
night-walkers that might have less tender consciences than 
ours ; for there is many one of them upon the amble in such a 
5 night as this. Take heed, however,” he added sternly; “re- 
member thou hast refused to tell thy name — ask not after ours, 
nor endeavor to discover who or what we are; for, if thou 
makest such an attempt, thou wilt come by worse fortune 
than has yet befallen thee.” 

10 Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and promised 
to attend to his recommendation. Two of the outlaws, taking 
up their quarter-staves, and desiring Gurth to follow close in 
the rear, walked roundly forward along a by-path, which 
traversed the thicket and the broken ground adjacent to it. 
15 On the very verge of the thicket two men spoke to his con- 
ductors, and receiving an answer in a whisper, withdrew into 
the wood, and suffered them to pass unmolested. This circum- 
stance induced Gurth to believe both that the gang was strong 
in numbers, and that they kept regular guards around their 
20 place of rendezvous. 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth might 
have had some trouble in finding his road, the thieves guided 
him straight forward to the top of a little eminence, whence 
he could see, spread beneath him in the moonlight, the pali- 
25 sades of the lists, the glimmering pavilions pitched at either 
end, with the pennons which adorned them fluttering in the 
moonbeams, and from which could be heard the hum of the 
song with which the sentinels were beguiling their night-watch. 

Here the thieves stopt. 

30 “ We go with you no farther,” said they; “ it were not safe 

that we should do so. — Remember tlie warning you have re- 
ceived — keep secret what has this night befallen you, and you 
will have no room to repent it — neglect what is now told you, 
and the Tower of London shall not protect you against our 
35 vevenge.” 

“Good-night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth; “I shall re- 
member your orders, and trust that there is no offense in 
wishing you a safer and an honester trade.” 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direction 


IVANHOE. 


115 


from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding to the tent 
of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the injunction he 
had received, he communicated the whole adventures of the 
evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, no 6 
less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, he re- 
solved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, to whose 
profession such a quality seemed totally foreign. His course 
of reflections upon these singular circumstances was, however, 
interrupted by the necessity for taking repose, which the 10 
fatigue of the preceding day, and the propriety of refreshing 
himself for the morrow’s encounter, rendered alike indis- 
pensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose upon a 
rich couch with which the tent was provided ; and the faithful 15 
Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon a bear-skin which 
formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, laid himself across the 
opening of the tent, so that no one could enter without awaken- 
ing him. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The heralds left their pricking up and down, 

Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west, 

In go the spears full sadly in the rest, 

In goth the sharp spur into the side, 

There are seen men who can just and who can ride ; 

There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick. 

He feeleth through the heart-spoon the prick ; 

Up springen speares, twenty feet in height, 

Out go the swordes as the silver bright ; 

The helmes they to-hewn and to-shred ; 

Out bursts the blood with stern streames red. 

Chaucer. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendor, and ere the sun was 
much above the horizon, the idlest or the most eager of the 35 
spectators appeared on the common, moving to the lists as to 
a general center, in order to secure a favorable situation for 
viewing the continuation of the expected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the 


116 


IVANHOE. 


field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of receiving 
the names of the knights who intended to joust, with the side 
which each chose to espouse. This was a necessary precau- 
tion, in order to secure equality betwixt the two bodies who 
5 should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight was to 
be considered as leader of the one body, while Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, who had been rated as having done second-best in 
the preceding day, was named first champion of the other 
10 band. Those who had concurred in the challenge adhered to 
his party of course, excepting only Ealph de Vipont, whom his 
fall had rendered unfit so soon to put on his armor. There 
was no want of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up 
the ranks on either side. 

15 In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single en- 
counters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and prac- 
ticed by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who had not 
sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a single adver- 
20sary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, desirous of dis- 
playing their valor in the general combat, where they might 
meet others with whom they were more upon an equality. 
On the present occasion, about fifty knights were inscribed as 
desirous of combating upon each side, when the marshals 
25 declared that no more could be admitted, to the disappointment 
of several who were too late in preferring their claim to be 
included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock, the whole plain was crowded 
with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers, hastening 
30 to the tournament ; and shortly after, a grand flourish of trum- 
pets announced Prince John and his retinue, attended by many 
of those knights who meant to take share in the game, as well 
as others who had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the 
o5 Lady Eowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This 
Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in armor, 
in order to take his place among the combatants; and, con- 
siderably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist him- 
' self on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon, indeed, 


IVANHOE. 


117 


had remonstrated strongly with his friend upon the injudicious 
choice he had made of his party ; but he had only received 
that sort of answer usually given by those who are more 
obstinate in following their own course, than strong in justify- 
ing it. 5 

His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the party of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to keep 
to himself. Though his apathy of disposition prevented his 
taking any means to recommend himself to the Lady Eowena, 
he was, nevertheless, by no means insensible to her charms, 10 
and considered his union with her as a matter already fixed 
beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. 

It had therefore been with smothered displeasure that the 
proud though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor 
of the preceding day select Eowena as the object of that honor 15 
which it became his privilege to confer. In order to punish 
him for a preference which seemed to interfere with his own 
suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to whom his 
fiatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, had deter- 
mined not only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his 20 
powerful succor, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make 
him feel the weight of his battle-ax. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, in 
obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of the 
challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, the vie- 25 
tory to that side. On the other hand, many other knights, 
both English and Norman, natives and strangers, took part 
against the challengers, the more readily that the opposite 
band was to be led by so distinguished a champion as the Dis- 
inherited Knight had approved himself. 30 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen of 
the day had arrived upon the field, assuming tliat air of cour- 
tesy which sat well upon him, when he was pleased to exhibit 
it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, alight- 
ing from his horse, assisted the Lady Eowena from her saddle, 35 
while his followers uncovered at the same time, and one of the 
most distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

“It is thus,” said Prince John, “that we set the dutiful 
example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are 


118 


IVANHOE. 


ourselves her guide to the throne which she must this day 
occupy. — Ladies,” he said, “ attend your Queen, as you wish 
in your turn to be distinguished by like honors.” 

So saying, the Prince marshaled Rowena to the seat of 
5 honor opposite his own, while the fairest and most distin- 
guished ladies present crowded after her to obtain places as 
near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated, than a burst of music, half- 
drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her new 
10 dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright upon the 
polished arms of the knights of either side, who crowded the 
opposite extremities of the lists, and held eager conference to- 
gether concerning the best mode of arranging their line of 
battle, and supporting the conflict. 

15 The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the 
tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated in some 
degree to abate the dangers of the day ; a precaution the more 
necessary, as the conflict was to be maintained with sharp 
swords and pointed lances. 

20 The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with the 
sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, it was an- 
nounced, might use a mace or battle-ax at pleasure, but the 
dagger was a prohibited weapon. A knight unhorsed might 
renew the fight on foot with any other on the opposite side in 
25 the same predicament ; but mounted horsemen were in that 
case forbidden to assail him. When any knight could force 
his antagonist to the extremity of the lists, so as to touch the 
palisade with his person or arms, such opponent was obliged 
to yield himself vanquished, and his armor and horse were 
30 placed at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight thus over- 
come was not permitted to take farther share in the combat. 
If any combatant was struck down, and unable to recover his 
feet, his squire or page might enter the lists, and drag his 
master out of the press; but in that case the knight was ad- 
35 judged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared forfeited. 
The combat was to cease as soon as Prince John should throw 
down his leading staff, or truncheon; another precaution 
usually taken to prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood by 
the too long endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight 


lYANHOE 


119 


breaking the rules of the tournament, or otherwise trans- 
gressing the rules of honorable chivalry, was liable to be 
stripped of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to be 
placed in that posture astride upon the bars of the palisade, 
and exposed to public derision, in punishment of his un- 5 
knightly conduct. Having announced these precautions, the 
heralds concluded with an exhortation to each knight to do his 
duty, and to merit favor from the ^ueen of Beauty and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds withdrew 
to their stations. The knights, entering at either end of the jq 
lists in long procession, arranged themselves in a double file, 
precisely opposite to each other, the leader of each party being 
in the center of the foremost rank, a post which he did 
not occupy until each had carefully arranged the ranks of 
his party, and stationed every one in his place. ^5 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight, to 
behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, and 
armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter so for- 
midable, seated on their war-saddles like so many pillars of 
iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with the same ardor 20 
as their generous steeds, which, by neighing and pawing the 
ground, gave signal of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their bright 
points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with which they 
were decorated fluttering over the plumage of the helmets. 25 
Thus they remained while the marshals of the field surveyed 
their ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either party had 
more or fewer than the appointed number. The tale was found 
exactly complete. The marshals then withdrew from the lists, 
and William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the 
signal words — Laissez alter I The trumpets sounded as he 
spoke — the spears of the champions were at once lowered and 
placed in the rests — the spurs were dashed into the fianks of 
the horses, and the two foremost ranks of either party rushed 
upon each other in full gallop, and met in the middle of the^^ 
lists with a shock, the sound of which was heard at a mile’s 
distance. The rear rank of each party advanced at a slower 
pace to sustain the defeated, and follow up the success of the 
victors of their party. 


120 


IVANHOE. 


The consequences of the encounter were not instantly seen, 
for the dust raised by the trampling of so many steeds dark- 
ened the air, and it was a minute ere the anxious spectators 
could see the fate of the encounter. When the fight became 
5 visible, half the knights on each side were dismounted, some 
by the dexterity of their adversary’s lance, — some by the supe- 
rior weight and strength of opponents, which had borne down 
both horse and man, — some lay stretched on earth as if never 
more to rise, — some had already gained their feet, and were 
10 closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists who werej 
in the same predicament, — and several on both sides, who had, 
received wounds by which they were disabled, were stopping 
their blood by their scarfs, and endeavoring to extricate them- 
selves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whoso lances 
15 had been almost all broken by the fury of the encounter, were 
now closely engaged with their swords, shouting their war- 
cries, and exchanging buffets, as if honor and life depended on 
the issue of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the 
20 second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, now 
rushed on to aid their companions. The followers of Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert shouted: “iiTa/ Beau-seantI Beau-seant / — For 
the Temple — For the Temple ! ” The opposite party shouted 
in answer — “ Desdichado ! Desdichado ! ” — which watchword 
25 they took from the motto upon their leader’s shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the utmost 
fury, and with alternate success the tide of battle seemed to 
flow now toward the southern, now toward the northern 
extremity of the lists, as the one or the other party prevailed. 
30 Meantime the clang of the blows, and the shouts of the com- 
batants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the trumpets, and 
drowned the groans of those who fell and lay rolling defense- 
less beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armor of 
the combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and 
35 gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle-ax. The 
gpy plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze 
like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and graceful in the 
martial array had disappeared, and what was now visible was 
only calculated to awake terror or compassion. 


IVANHOE. 


121 


Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar spec- 
tators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, but 
even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the galleries, saw 
the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, but without a 
wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. Here 
and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or a faint 
• scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband, 
was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies around 
Encouraged the combatants, not only by clapping their hands 
and waving their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, 
“Brave lance ! Good sword!” when any successful thrust or 
blow took place under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody 
game, that of the men is the more easily understood. It 
showed itself in loud acclamations upon every change of for- 
tune, while all eyes were so riveted on the lists, that the spec- 
tators seemed as if they themselves had dealt and received the 
blows which were there so freely bestowed. And between 
every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, 
“ Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives! — Fight 
on — death is better than defeat! — Fight on, brave knights! — 
for bright eyes behold your deeds! ” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all en- 
deavored to discover the leaders of each band, who, mingling 
in the thick of the fight, encouraged their companions both by 
voice and example. Both displayed great feats of gallantry, 
nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight find in 
the ranks opposed to them a champion who could be termed 
their unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavored to 
y single out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware 
that the fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of 
victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion, that, 
during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts to meet were 
unavailing, and they were repeatedly separated by the eager- 
ness of their followers, each of whom was anxious to win 
honor, by measuring his strength against the leader of the 
opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either 
side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had been com- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


122 


lYANHOE. 


pelled to the extremity of the lists, or been otherwise rendered 
incapable of continuing the strife, the Templar and the Dis- 
inherited Knight at length encountered hand to hand, with all 
the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalry of honor, 
5 could inspire. Such was the address of each in parrying and 
striking, that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and 
involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had 
the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the one flank, 
10 and the ponderous strength of Athelstane on the other, bearing 
down and dispersing those immediately exposed to them. 
Finding themselves freed from their immediate antagonists, it 
seems to have occurred to both these knights at the same 
instant that they would render the most decisive advantage to 
15 their party, by aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival. 
Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Nor- 
man spurred against the Disinherited Knight on the one side, 
and the Saxon on the other. It was utterly impossible that 
the object of this unequal and unexpected assault could have 
20 sustained it, had he not been warned by a general cry from 
the spectators, who could not but ta)?:e interest in one exposed 
to such disadvantage. 

“Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited ! ” was shouted so uni- 
versally, that the knight became aware of his danger; and, 
25 striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back his steed 
in the same moment, so as to escape the charge of Athelstane 
and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, therefore, their aim being 
thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides betwixt the object of 
their attack and the Templar, almost running their horses 
30 against each other ere they could stop their career. Recover- 
ing their horses, however, and wheeling them round, the whole 
three pursued their united purpose of bearing to the earth the 
Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable 
35 strength and activity of the noble horse which he had won on 
the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guil- 
bert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and Athelst.'ine 
were both tired with the weight of their gigantic masters, clad 


IVANHOE. 


123 


in comx)lete armor, and with the preceding exertions of the 
day. The masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited Knight, 
and the activity of the noble animal which he mounted, enabled 
him for a few minutes to keep at sword’s point his three antag- 
onists, turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon 
the wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and 
rushing now against the one, now against the other, dealing 
sweeping blows with his sword, without waiting to receive 
those which were aimed at him in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his dex- 
terity, it was evident that he must at last he overpowered; and 
the nobles around Prince John implored him with one voice to 
throw down his warder, and to save so brave a knight fro^^ 
the disgrace of being overcome by odds. 

“Not I, by the light of heaven!” answered Prince John; 
“this same springal, who conceals his name, and despises our 
proffered hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may 
now afford to let others have their turn.” As he spoke thus, 
an unexpected incident changed the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a 
champion in black armor, mounted on a black horse, large of 
size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, like the 
rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, who bore on 
his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto evinced very 
little interest in the event of the fight, beating off with seeming 
ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither pursuing 
his advantages, nor himself assailing any one. In short, he 
had hitherto acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party 
in the tournament, a circumstance which procured him among 
the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant^ or the Black 
Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when 
he discovered the leader of his party so hard bested; for, set- 
ting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his 
assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a 
trumpet-call, “ Desdichado^ to the rescue! ” It was high time; 
for, while the Disinherited Knight was pressing upon the Tem- 
plar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with his uplifted 
sword; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


124 


IVANHOE. 


a stroke on his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, 
lighted with violence scarcely abated on the chamfrcm of the 
steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both horse and 
man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. Le Noir 
5 Faineant then turned his horse upon Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh ; and his own sword having been broken in his encounter 
with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand of the bulky 
Saxon the battle-ax which he wielded, and, like one familiar 
with the use of the weapon, bestowed him such a blow upon 
10 the crest, that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. 
Having achieved this double feat, for which he was the more 
highly applauded that it was totally unexpected from him, the 
knight seemed to resume the sluggishness of his character, re- 
turning calmly to the northern extremity of the lists, leaving 
15 his leader to cope as he best could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
This was no longer matter of so much difficulty as formerly. 
The Templar’s horse had bled much, and gave way under the 
shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from 
20 which he was unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung 
from horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his 
adversary, and commanded him to yield himself ; when Prince 
John, more moved by the Templar’s dangerous situation than 
he had been by that of his rival, saved him the mortification 
25 of confessing himself vanquished, by casting down his warder, 
and putting an end to the conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which 
continued to burn ; for of the few knights who still continued 
in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit consent, forborne 
30 the conflict for some time, leaving it to be determined by the 
strife of the leaders. 

The squires,' who had found it a matter of danger and diffi- 
culty to attend their masters during the engagement, now 
thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance to the 
35 wounded, who were removed with the utmost care and atten- 
tion to the neighboring pavilions, or to the quarters prepared 
for them in tlie adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, one 
of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that age ; for 


IVANHOE. 


125 


although only four knights, including one who was smothered 
by the heat of his armor, had died upon the field, yet upwards 
of thirty were desperately wounded, four or five of whom never 
recovered. Several more were disabled for life; and those who 
escaped best carried the marks of the conflict to the grave with 
them. Hence it is always mentioned in the old records, as the 
Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby. 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight 
jwho had done best, he determined that the honor of the day 
remained with the knight whom the popular voice had termed 
Le Noir Faineant, It was pointed out to the Prince, in im- 
peachment of this decree, that the victory had been in fact 
won by the Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the day, 
had overcome six champions with his own hand, and who had 
finally unhorsed and struck down the leader of the opposite 
party. But Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on the 
ground that the Disinherited Knight and his party had lost 
the day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the 
Black Armor, to whom, therefore, he persisted in awarding 
the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus pre- 
ferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists im- 
mediately when the conflict ceased, and had been observed by 
some spectators to move down one of the forest glades with 
the same slow pace and listless and indifferent manner which 
had procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard. After 
he had been summoned twice by sound of trumpet, and proc- 
lamation of the heralds, it became necessary to name another 
to receive the honors which had been assigned to him. Prince 
John had now no further excuse for resisting the claim of the 
Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, he named the cham- 
pion of the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered with 
broken armor and the bodies of slain and wounded horses, the 
marshals of the lists again conducted the victor to the foot of 
Prince John’s throne. 

“Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “since by that 
title only you will consent to be known to us, we a second time 
award to you the honors of this tournament, and announce 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


126 


IVANHOE. 


to you your right to claim and receive from the hands of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty the Chaplet of Honor which your 
valor has justly deserved.” The Knight bowed low and grace- 
fully, but returned no answer. 

5 While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honor to the brave and glory to the 
victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and em- 
broidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamorous 
shout of exultation, the marshals conducted tlie Disinherited 
10 Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne of honor 
which was occupied by the Lady Eowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was made to 
kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since the fight had 
ended seemed rather to have been upon the impulse of those 
15 around him than from his own free will ; and it was observed 
that he tottered as they guided him the second time across the 
lists. Eowena, descending from her station with a graceful 
and dignified step, was about to place the chaplet which she 
held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, when the 
20 marshals exclaimed with one voice, “It must not be thus — 
his head must be bare.” The knight muttered faintly a few 
words which were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but their 
purport seemed to be a desire that his casque might not be 
removed. 

25 ^ Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the marshals 
paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, but un- 
helmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and vindoing 
the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet was removed, 
the well-formed, yet sunburnt features of a young man of 
30 twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of short fair hair. 
His countenance was as pale as death, and marked in one or 
two places with streaks of blood. 

Eowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint 
shriek ; but at once summoning up the energy of her disposi- 
35 tion, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while her 
frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden emotion, she 
placed upon the drooping head of the victor the splendid chap- 
let which was the destined reward of the day, and pronounced, 
in a clear and distinct tone, these words : “ I bestow on thee 


IVANHOE. 


127 


this chaplet, Sir Knight, as the meed of valor assigned to 
this day’s victor.” Here she paused a moment, and then 
firmly added, “ And upon brows more worthy could a wreath 
of chivalry never be placed ! ” 

The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valor had been rewarded ; and 
then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been 
struck mute by the sudden appearance of his banished son, 
now rushed forward, as if to separate him from Eowena. But 
this had been already accomplished by the marshals of the 
field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s swoon, had hastened 
to undo his armor, and found that the head of a lance had 
penetrated his breastplate, and inflicted a wound in his side. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ Heroes, approach ! ” Atrides thus aloud, 

“ Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd. 

Ye who by skill or manly force may claim, 

Your riVals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen is decreed, 

For him who farthest sends the winged reed.” 

Iliad, 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than it flew 
from mouth to mouth, with all the celerity with which eager- 
ness could convey and curiosity receive it. It w’as not long ere 
it reached the circle of the Prince, whose brow darkened as he 
heard the news. Looking around him, however, with an air of 
scorn, “My Lords,” said he, “and especially you, Sir Prior, 
what think ye of the doctrine the learned tell us, concerning 
innate attractions and antipathies ? Methinks that I felt the 
presence of my brother’s minion, even when I least guessed 
whom yonder suit of armor inclosed.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief of Ivanhoe,” 
said De Bracy, who, having discharged his part honorably in 
the tournament, had laid his shield and helmet aside, and again 
mingled with the Prince’s retinue. 

“ Ay,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “ this gallant is likely 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


128 


lYANHOE. 


to reclaim the castle and manor which Richard assigned to 
him, and which your Highness’s generosity has since given to 
Front-de Boeuf.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf,” replied John, “ is a man more willing to 
5 swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to disgorge one of 
them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none here will deny my right 
to confer the fiefs of the crown upon the faithful followers who 
are around me, and ready to perform the usual military service, 
in the room of those who have wandered to foreign countries 
xOand can neither render homage nor service when called upon.” 

The audience were too much interested in the question not 
to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether indubitable. 
“ A generous Prince ! — a most noble Lord, who thus takes upon 
himself the task of rewarding his faithful followers ! ” 

15 Such were the words which burst from the train, expectants 
all of them of similar grants at the expense of King Richard’s 
followers and favorites, if indeed they had not as yet received 
such. Prior Aymer also assented to the general proposition, 
observing, however, “That the blessed Jerusalem could not 
20 indeed be termed a foreign country. She was communis mater 
— the mother of all Christians. But he saw not,” he declared, 
“how the Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any advantage from 
this, since he ” (the Prior) ‘ ‘ was assured that the crusaders, 
under Richard, had never proceeded much farther than Aska- 
25 Ion, which, as all the world knew, was a town of the Philistines, 
and entitled to none of the privileges of the Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the place 
where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now returned. “The 
gallant,” said he, “ is likely to give your Highness little disturb- 
30 ance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf in the quiet possession of his 
gains — he is severely wounded.” 

“ Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “ heis victor 
of the day ; and were he tenfold our enemy, or the devoted 
friend of our brother, which is perhaps the same, his wounds 
33 must be looked to — our own physician shall attend him.” 

A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. Waldemar 
Fitzurse hastened to reply, that Ivanhoe was already removed 
from the lists, and in the custody of his friends. 

“ I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “to see the grief of the 


IVANHOE. 


129 

r 

Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of a day this 
event has changed into mourning. I am not a man to he moved 
by a woman’s lament for her lover, but this same Lady Eowena 
suppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner, that it 
could only be discovered by her folded hands, and her tearless 
eye, which trembled as it remained fixed on the lifeless form 
before her.” 

“ Who is this Lady Rowena,” said Prince John, “ of whom 
we have heard so much ? ” 

“A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the Prior 
Aymer; “ a rose of loveliness, and a jewel of wealth; the fair- 
est among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, and a cluster of 
camphire.” 

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, “ and amend 
her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. She seems a minor 
and must therefore be at our royal disposal in marriage. — How 
sayst thou, De Bracy ? What thinkst thou of gaining fair 
lands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after the fashion of the 
followers of the Conqueror ? ” 

“ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered De Bracy, 

‘ ‘ it will be hard to displease me with a bride ; and deeply will 
I hold myself bound to your Highness for a good deed, which 
will fulfill all promises made in favor of your servant and 
vassal.” 

“We will not forget it,” said Prince John; “and that we 
may instantly go to work, command our sen^es^ial presently 
to order the attendance of the Lady Rowena and her company 
— that is, the rude churl her guardian, and the Saxon ox whom 
the Black Knight struck down in the tournament, upon this 
evening’s banquet. — De Bigot,” he added to his seneschal, 
“ thou wilt word this our second summons so courteously as to 
gratify the pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible for 
them again to refuse; although, by the bones of Becket, cour- 
tesy to them is casting pearls before swine.” 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to give 
the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small billet was 
put into his hand. 

“ From whence ?” said Prince John, looking at the person 
by whom it was delivered. 

9 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


130 


IVANHOE. 


From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I know 
not,” replied his attendant. ‘ ‘ A Frenchman brought it hither, 
who said he had ridden night and day to put it into the hands 
of your Highness.” 

5 The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and then 
at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk with which the 
billet was surrounded, and which bore the impression of three 
fleurs-de-lis. John then opened the billet with apparent agita- 
tion, which visibly and greatly increased when he had perused 
10 the contents, which were expressed in these words — 

“ Take heed to yourself^ for the Devil is unchained ! ” 

The Prince turned pale as death, looked first on the earth, 
and then up to heaven, like a man who has received news that 
sentence of execution has been passed upon him. Recovering 
15 from the first effects of his surprise, he took Waldemar Fitz- 
urse and De Bracy aside, and put the billet into their hands 
successively. “It means,” he added, in a faltering voice, 
“ that my brother Richard has obtained his freedom.” 

“ This may be a false alarm, or a forged letter,” said De Bracy. 
20 “It is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince John. 
“It is time, then,” said Fitzurse, “ to draw our party to a 
head, either at York, or some other centrical place. A few 
days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your Highness must 
break short this present mummery.” 

25 “ The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, “ must not be 

dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in the sports.” 

“ The day,” said Waldemar, “ is not yet very far spent — let 
the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and the prize be 
adjudged. This will be an abundant fulfillment of the Prince’s 
30 promises, so far as this herd of Saxon serfs is concerned.” 

“ I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince ; “ thouremind- 
est me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that insolent peasant 
who yesterday insulted our person. Our banquet also shall go 
forward to-night as we proposed. Were this my last hour 
35 of power, it would be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleas- 
ure — let new cares come with to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators who 
had already begun to leave the field; and proclamation was 
made that Prince John, suddenly called by high and peremp- 


IVANHOE. 


lai 

tory public duties, held himself obliged to discontinue the en- 
tertainments of to-morrow’s festival: nevertheless, that, un- 
willing so many good yeomen should depart without a trial of 
skill, he was jjleased to appoint them, before leaving the 
ground, presently to execute the competition of archery in- 5 
tended for the morrow. To the best archer a prize was to be 
awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silver 
baldric richly ornamented with a medallion of St. Hubert, the 
patron of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as 10 
competitors, several of whom were rangers and under-keepers 
in the royal forests of Need wood and Charnwood. When, 
however, the archers understood with whom they were to be 
matched, upwards of twenty withdrew themselves from the 
contest, unwilling to encounter the dishonor of almost certain 15 
defeat. For in those days the skill of each celebrated marks- 
man was well known for many miles round him, as the quali- 
ties of a horse trained at Newmarket are familiar to those who 
frequent that well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 20 
amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal seat 
to view more nearly the persons of these chosen yeomen, 
several of whom wore the royal livery. Having satisfied his 
curiosity by this investigation, he looked for the object of his 
resentment, whom he observed standing on the same spot, and 25 
with the same composed countenance which he had exhibited 
upon the preceding day. 

“Fellow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy insolent 
babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, and I see thou 
darest not adventure thy skill among such merry-men as 3C 
stand yonder.” 

“Under favor, sir,” replied the yeoman, “I have another 
reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discomfiture 
and disgrace.” 

“And what is thy other reason ?” said Prince John, who, 35 
for some cause which, perhaps, he could not himself have ex- 
plained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this individual. 

“Because,” replied the woodsman, “I know not if these 
yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks ; and be- 


132 


lYANHOE. 


cause, moreover, I know not how your Grace might relish the 
winning of a third prize by one who has unwittingly fallen 
under your displeasure.” 

Prince John colored as he put the question, “ What is thy 
5 name, yeoman ? ” 

“ Locksley,” answered the yeoman. 

“Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “thou shalt shoot in 
thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed their skill. If 
thou earnest the prize, I will add to it twenty nobles; but if 
10 thou losest it, thou shalt be stript of thy Lincoln-green, and 
scourged out of the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and 
insolent braggart.” 

“ And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager ? ” said the 
yeoman. — “Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, by so 
15 many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and scourge me, 
but cannot compel me to bend or to draw my bow.” 

“I^thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, “the 
Provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy bow and 
arrows, and expel thee from the presence as a faint-hearted 
20 craven.” 

“ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” said 
the yeoman, “to compel me to peril myself against the best 
archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under the penalty of 
infamy if they should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey 
25 your pleasure.” 

“ Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John; “ his 
heart is sinking. I am jealous lest he attempt to escape the 
trial. — And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly round; a buck 
and a butt of wine are ready for your refreshment in yonder 
yo tent, when the prize is won.” 

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern avenue 
which led to the lists. The contending archers took their sta- 
tion in turn, at the bottom of the southern access, the distance 
between that station and the mark allowing full distance for 
35 what was called a shot at rovers. The archers, having pre- 
viously determined by lot their order of precedence, were to 
shoot each three shafts in succession. The sports were regu- 
lated by an officer of inferior rank, termed the Provost of the 
Games ; for the high rank of the marshals of the lists would 


IVANHOE. 


133 


have been held degraded, had they condescended to superin- 
tend the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their 
shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows, shot 
in succession, ten were fixed in the target, and the others 
ranged so near it, that, considering the distance of the mark, 
it was accounted good archery. Of the ten shafts which hit 
the target, two within the inner ring were shot by Hubert, a 
forester in the service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pro- 
nounced victorious. 

“Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, 
with a bitter smile, “wilt thou try conclusions with Hubert, 
or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver to the Provost 
of the sports ? ” 

“ Sith it be no better,” said Locksley, “ I am content to try 
my fortune,' on condition that when I have shot two shafts at 
yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at 
that which I shall propose.” 

“ That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “ and it shall not 
be refused thee. — If thou dost beat tliis braggart, Hubert, I 
will fill the bugle with silver pennies for thee.” 

“A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert, “ but my 
grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hastings, and I trust not to 
dishonor his memory. ” 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the 
same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor in the 
first trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, took his aim with 
great deliberation, long measuring the distance with his eye, 
while he held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow placed 
on the string. At length he made a step forward, and raising the 
bow at the full stretch of his left arm, till the center or grasp- 
ing-place was nigh level with his face, he drew his bowstring to 
his ear. The arrow whistled through the air, and lighted with- 
in the inner circle of the target, but not exactly in the center. 

“ You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said his an- 
tagonist, bending his bow, “ or that had been a better shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause 
upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed station, and shot 
bis arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


134 


IVANHOE. 


looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant 
that the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target 
two inches nearer to the white spot which marked the center 
than that of Hubert. 

g “By the light of heaven ! ” said Prince John to Hubert, “an 
thou suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art 
worthy of the gallows ! ” 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. ‘ ‘ An your 
Highness were to hang me,” he said, “ a man can but do his 
best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow — ” 

‘ ‘ The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation ! ” 
interrupted John ; “ shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall 
be the worse for thee ! ” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting 
the caution which he had received from his adversary, he made 
the necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, wJiichhad 
just arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in 
the very center of the target. 

“A Hubert! a Hubert!” shouted the populace, more inter- 
2 q ested in a known person than in a stranger. ‘ ‘ In the clout !— 
in the clout ! — a Hubert forever ! ” 

“ Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the Prince, 
with an insulting smile. 

“ I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied Locksley. 
25 And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than 
before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it 
split to shivers. The people who stood around were so aston- 
ished at his wonderful dexterity that they could not even give 
vent to their surprise in their usual clamor. ‘ ‘ This must be 
3Q the devil, and no man of flesh and blood,” whispered the yeo- 
men to each other; “such archery was never seen since a bow 
was first bent in Britain.” 

“ And now,” said Locksley, “ I will crave your Grace’s per- 
mission to plant such a mark as is used in the North Countiy ; 
35 and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to 
win a smile from the bonny lass he loves best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. ‘ ‘ Let your guards attend 
me,” he said, “ if you please — I go but to cut a rod from the 
next willow-bush.” 


IVANHOE. 


135 


Prince John made a signal that some attendants should follow 
him in case of his escape; but the cry of “Shame! shame! ” 
which burst from the multitude, induced him to alter his un- 
generous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand about 
six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker than a 
man’s thumb. He began to peel this with great composure, 
observing at the same time, that to ask a good woodsman to 
shoot at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to put 
shame upon his skill. ‘ ‘ For his own part, ” he said, ‘ ‘ and in the 
land where he was bred, men would as soon take for their mark 
King Arthur’s round-table, which held sixty knights around it. 
A child of seven years old,” he said, “ might hit yonder target 
with a headless shaft; but,” added he, walking deliberately to 
the other end of the lists, and sticking the willow wand upright 
in the ground, “ he that hits that rod at five-score yards, I call 
him an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before a king, 
an it were the stout King Eichard himself.” 

“ My grandsire,” said Hubert, “drew a good bow at the 
battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his life 
— ^and neither will I. If this yeoman can cleave that rod, I 
give him the bucklers — or rather, I yield to the devil that is in 
his jerkin, and not to any human skill; a man can but do his 
best, and I will not shoot where I am sure to miss. I might 
as well shoot at the edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat 
straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which 
I can hardly see.” 

“ Cowardly dog! ” said Prince John. — “Sirrah Locksley, do 
thou shoot; but, if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou 
art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it be, thou shalt not 
crow over us with a mere show of superior skill.” 

“I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locksley; 
“ no man can do more.” 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion 
looked with attention to his weapon, and changed the string, 
which he thought was no longer truly round, having been a 
little frayed by the two former shots. He then took his aim 
with some deliberation, and the multitude awaited the event 
in breathless silence. The archer vindicated their opinion 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

00 

35 


136 


IVANHOE. 


his skill : his arrow split the willow rod against which it was 
aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; and even Prince 
John, in admiration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his 
dislike to his person. ‘ ‘ These twenty nobles,” he said, ‘ ‘ which, 
5 with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we will 
make them fifty , if thou wilt take livery and service with us as 
a yeoman of our body-guard, and be near to our person. For 
never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct 
a shaft.” 

10 “Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley; “but I have 
vowed, that if ever I take service, it should be with your royal 
brother. King Eichard. These twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, 
who has this day drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at 
Hastings. Had his modesty not refused the trial, he would 
15 have hit the wand as well as I.” 

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the 
bounty of the stranger, and Locksley, anxious to escape further 
observation, mixed with the crowd, and was seen no more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped John’s 
20 attention so easily, had not that Prince had other subjects of 
anxious and more important meditation pressing upon his mind 
at that instant. He called upon his chamberlain as he gave the 
signal for retiring from the lists, and commanded him instantly 
to gallo'p to Ashby, and seek out Isaac the Jew. ‘ ‘ Tell the dog,” 
25 he said, “to send me, before sundown, two thousand crowns. 
He knows the security; but thou mayst show him this ring 
for a token. The rest of the money must be paid at York 
within six days. If he neglects, I will have the unbelieving 
villain’s head. Look that thou pass him not on the way ; for 
30 the circumcised slave was displaying his stolen finery amongst 
us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned to 
Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing upon his 
retreat. 


IVANHOE. 


137 


CHAPTER XIV. 

In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient Chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games, 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call, 

In some proud castle’s high-arch’d hall. 

Warton. 

Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of Ashby. 
This was not the same building of which the stately ruins still 
interest the traveler, and which was erected at a later period 
by the Lord^ Hastings, High Chamberlain of England, one of 
the first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third, and yet 
better known as one of Shakespeare’s characters than by his 
historical fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at this time, 
belonged to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, during 
the period of our history, was absent in the Holy Land. Prince 
John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and disposed of his 
domains without scruple; and seeking at present to dazzle 
men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnificence, had given 
orders for great preparations, in order to render the banquet 
as splendid as possible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this and other 
occasions the full authority of royalty, had swept the country 
of all that could be collected which was esteemed fit for their 
master’s table. Guests also were invited in great numbers; 
and in the necessity in which he then found himself of court- 
ing popularity. Prince John had extended his invitation to a 
few distinguished Saxon and Danish families, as well as to the 
Norman nobility and gentry of the neighborhood. However 
despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the great num- 
bers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily render them formi- 
dable in the civil commotions which seemed approaching, and 
it was an obvious point of policy to secure popularity with 
their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for some 
time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with a cour- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


138 


IVANHOE. 


tesy to which they had been little accustomed. But al- 
though no man with less scruple made his ordinary habits and 
feelings bend to his interest, it was the misfortune of tliis 
Prince, that his levity and petulance were perpetually breaking 
5 out, and undoing all that had been gained by his previous dis- 
simulation. 

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ire- 
land, when sent thither by his father, Henry the Second, with 
the purpose of buying golden opinions of the inhabitants of 
10 that new and important acquisition to the English crown. 
Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains contended which should 
first offer to the young Prince their loyal homage and the kiss 
of peace. But, instead of receiving their salutations with 
courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not resist 
15 the temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish chief- 
tains; a conduct which, as might have been expected, was 
highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and produced 
fatal consequences to the English domination in Ireland. It is 
necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s character in 
20 view, that the reader may understand his conduct during the 
present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed during 
his cooler moments. Prince John received Cedric and Athel- 
stane with distinguished courtesy, and expressed his disappoint- 
25 ment, without resentment, when the indisposition of Rowena 
was alleged by the former as a reason for her not attending 
upon his gracious summons. Cedric and Athelstane were 
both dressed in the ancient Saxon garb, which, although not 
unhandsome in itself, and in the present instance composed of 
30 costly materials, was so remote in shape and appearance from 
that of the other guests, that Prince John took great credit 
to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse for refraining from 
laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day rendered 
ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, the short close 
35 tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as 
well as a more convenient dress, than the garb of the Normans, 
whose under garment was a long doublet, so loose as to re- 
semble a shirt or wagoner’s frock, covered by a cloak of scanty 
dimensions, neither fit to defend the wearer from cold or from 


IVANHOE. 


139 


rain, and the only purpose of which appeared to be to display 
as much fur, embroidery, and jewelry work as the ingenuity 
of the tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The Emperor 
Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first introduced, seems 
to have been very sensible of the inconveniences arising from 
the fashion of this garment. “In Heaven’s name,” said he, 
“ to what purpose serve these abridged cloaks ? If we are in 
bed they are no cover, on horseback they are no protection 
from the wind and rain, and when seated, they do not guard 
our legs from the damp or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the short 
cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of which we 
treat, and particularly among the princes of the House of 
Anjoii. They were therefore in universal use among Prince 
John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, which formed the upper 
garment of the Saxons, was held in proportional derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under the 
quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who attended 
on the Prince’s progress, having exerted all their art in varying 
the forms in which the ordinary provisions were served up, 
had succeeded almost as well as the modern professors of the 
culinary art in rendering them perfectly unlike their natural 
appearance. Besides these (Wishes of domestic origin, there 
were various delicacies brought from foreign parts, and a 
quantity of rich pastry, as well as of the simnel-bread and 
wastel cakes, which were only used at the tables of the highest 
nobility. The banquet was crowned with the richest wines, 
both foreign and domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, gener- 
ally speaking, an intemperate race. While indulging them- 
selves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed at delicacy, but 
avoided excess, and were apt to attribute gluttony and drunk- 
enness to the vanquished Saxons, as vices peculiar to their in- 
ferior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who courted 
his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were apt to indulge to 
excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the goblets ; and in- 
deed it is well known that his death was occasioned by a sur- 
feit upon peaches and new ale. His conduct, however, was an 
exception to the general manners of his countrymen^ 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


140 


IVANHOE. 


With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to each 
other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the ruder de- 
meanor of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet, to the form 
and fashion of which they were unaccustomed. And while 
5 their manners were thus the subject of sarcastic observation, 
the untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressed several of the 
arbitrary rules established for the regulation of society. Now, 
it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty 
of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good 
10 morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of 
fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands with 
a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to exhale by waving 
them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridicule than his 
companion Athelstane, when he swallowed to his own single 
15 share the whole of a large pasty composed of the most ex- 
quisite foreign delicacies, and termed at that time a Karum- 
pie. When, however, it was discovered, by a serious cross- 
examination, that the Thane of Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as 
the Normans termed him) had no idea what he had been de- 
CO vouring, and that he had taken the contents of the Karum-pie 
for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes 
and nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample 
share of the ridicule which would have been more justly be- 
stowed on his gluttony. 

^0 The long feast had at length its end ; and, while the goblet 
circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding 
tournament, — of the unknown victor in the archery games, of 
the Black Knight, whose self-denial had induced him to with- 
draw from the honors he had won, — and of the gallant Ivanhoe, 
30 who had so dearly bought the honors of the day. The topics 
were treated with military frankness, and the jest and laugh 
went round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was over- 
clouded during these discussions; some overpowering care 
seemed agitating his mind, and it was only when he received 
35 occasional hints from his attendants, that he seemed to take 
interest in what was passing around him. On such occasions 
he would start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to raise his spirits, 
and then mingle in the conversation by some observation made 
abruptly or at random. 


IVANHOE. 


141 


‘‘ We drink this beaker,” said he, “ to the health of Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passage. of Arms, and grieve that 
his wound renders him absent from our board. — Let all fill to 
the pledge, and especially Cedric of Eotherwood, the worthy 
father of a son so promising. ” 5 

“No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and placing on 
the table his untasted cup, “ I yield not the name of son to the 
disobedient youth, who at once despises my commands, and 
relinquishes the manners and customs of his fathers. ” 

“’Tis impossible,” cried Prince John, with well-feigned as- 10 
tonishment, ‘ ‘ that so gallant a knight should be an unworthy 
or disobedient son ! ” 

“ Yet, my lord,” answered Cedrie, “ so it is with this Wilfred. 

He left my homely dwelling to mingle with the gay nobility of 
your brother’s court, where he learned to do those tricks of 13 
horsemanship which you prize so highly. He left it contrary 
to my wish and command; and in the days of Alfred that 
would have been termed disobedience — ay, and a crime severely 
punishable.” 

“Alas!” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of affected 20 
sympathy, ‘ ‘ since your son was a follower of my unhappy 
brother, it need not be inquired where or from whom he learned 
the lesson of filial disobedience.” 

Thus spake Prince John, willfully forgetting, that of all the 
sons of Henry the Second, though no one was free from the 25 
charge, he himself had been most distinguished for rebellion 
and ingratitude to his father. 

“I think,” said he after a moment’s pause, “ that my brother 
proposed to confer upon his favorite the rich manor of 
Ivanhoe.” 30 

“He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “nor is it 
my least quarrel with my son, that he stooped to hold, as a 
feudal vassal, the very domains which his fathers possessed in 
free and independent right.” 

“We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric,” 35 
said Prince John, “to confer this fief upon a person whose 
dignity will not be diminished by holding land of the British 
crown. — Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf ,” he said, turning towards 
that Baron, “ I trust you will so keep the goodly Barony of 


142 


IVANHOE. 


Ivanhoe, that Sir Wilfred shall not incur his father’s farthei 
displeasure by again entering upon that fief.” 

“ By St. Anthony ! ” answered the black-brow’d giant, “I 
will consent that your highness shall hold me a Saxon, if either 
5 Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever bore English blood, 
shall wrench from me the gift with which your highness has 
graced me.” 

“Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” replied Cedric, 
offended at a mode of expression by which the Normans f re- 
10 quently expressed their habitual contempt of the English, “will 
do thee an honor as great as it is undeserved.” 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s petu- 
lance and levity got the start. 

“Assuredly,” said he, “my lords, the noble Cedric speaks 
15 truth ; and his race may claim precedence over us as much in 
the length of their pedigrees as the longitude of their cloaks.” 

“ They go before us indeed in the field — as deer before dogs,” 
said Malvoisin. 

“ And with good right may they go before us — forget not,” 
20 said the Prior Ay mer, ‘ ‘ the superior decency and decorum of 
their manners.” 

“Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,” said De 
Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a Saxon bride. 

“ Together with the courage and conduct,” said Brian de 
25 Bois-Guilbert, ‘ ‘ by which they distinguished themselves at 
Hastings and elsewhere. ” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, each in 
turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed a shaft of 
ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon became inflamed with 
30 passion, and he glanced his eyes fiercely from one to another, 
as if the quick succession of so many injuries had prevented his 
replying to them in turn ; or, like a baited bull, who, surrounded 
by his tormentors, is at a loss to choose from among them the 
immediate object of his revenge. At length he spoke, in a 
35 voice half choked with passion; and, addressing himself to 
Prince John as the head and front of the offense which he had 
received, “Whatever,” he said, “have been the follies and 
vices of our race, a Saxon would have been held nideving^^'" 
(the most emphatic term for abject worthlessness,) “ who should 


IVANHOE. 


143 


in his own hall, and while his own wine-cup passed, have 
treated, or suffered to be treated, an unoffending guest as your 
highness has this day beheld me used ; and whatever was the 
misfortune of our fathers on the field of Hastings, those may 
at least be silent,” here he looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the 
Templar, ‘ ‘ who have within these few hours once and again 
lost saddle and stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.” 

“By my faith, a biting jest !” said Prince John. “How 
like you it, sirs ? — Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and cour- 
age ; become shrewd in wit, and bold in bearing, in these un- 
settled times. — What say ye, my lords ?— By this good light, 
I hold it best to take our galleys, and return tb Normandy in 
time.” 

“For fear of the Saxon ? ” said De Bracy, laughing ; “ we 
should need no weapon but our hunting spears to bring these 
boars to bay.” 

“A truce with your raillery. Sir Knights,” said Fitzurse; — 
“and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, “that 
your highness should assure the worthy Cedric there is no in- 
sult intended him by jests, which must sound but harshly in 
the ear of a stranger.” 

“Insult?” answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy 
of demeanor ; “I trust it will not be thought that I could 
mean, or permit any, to be offered in my presence. Here! I 
fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to pledge his 
son’s health.” 

The cup went round amid the well- dissembled applause of 
the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the impression 
on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. He was not 
naturally acute of perception, but those too much undervalued 
his understanding who deemed that this flattering compliment 
would obliterate the sense of the prior insult. He was silent, 
however, when the royal pledge again passed round, “To Sir 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense of the 
honor by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

“ And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to be warmed 
with the wine which he had drank, “having done justice tr 
our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some requital to oui 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


144 


IVANHOE. 


courtes 3 ^ — Worthy Thane/' he continued, addressing Cedric, 
“ may we pray you to name to us some Norman whose men- 
tion may least sully your mouth, and to wash down with a 
goblet of wine all bitterness which the sound may leave be- 
0 hind it ? ” 

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding behind 
the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit the oppor- 
tunity of putting an end to unkindness betwixt the two races, 
by naming Prince John. The Saxon replied not to this politic 
10 insinuation, but, rising up, and filling his cup to the brim, he 
addressed Prince John in these words: “Your highness has 
required that I should name a Norman deserving to be remem- 
bered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since 
it calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master — upon the 
15 vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of conquest, to sing 
the praises of the conqueror. Yet I ivill name a Norman — the 
first in arms and in place — the best and the noblest of his race. 
And the lips that shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned 
fame, I term false and dishonored, and will so maintain them 
20 with my life. — I quaff this goblet to the health of Richard the 
Lion-hearted ! ” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name would 
have closed the Saxon's speech, started when that of his in- 
jured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. He raised 
25 mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then instantly set it 
down, to view the demeanor of the company at this unexpected 
proposal, which many of them felt it as unsafe to oppose as to 
comply with. Some of them, ancient and experienced cour-^ 
tiers, closely imitated the example of the Prince himself, rais- 
30 ing the goblet to their lips, and again replacing it before them. 
There were many who, with a more generous feeling, ex- 
claimed, “Long live King Richard! and may he be speedily 
restored to us ! ” And some few, among whom were Front-de- 
Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered their goblets 
35 to stand untasted before them. But no man ventured directly 
to gainsay a pledge filled to the health of the reigning mon- 
arch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric said 
to his companion, “Up, noble Athelstane! we have remained 


IVANHOE. 


145 


here long enough, since we have requited the hospitable cour- 
tesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those who wish to know fur- 
ther of our rude Saxon manners must henceforth seek us in 
the homes of our fathers, since we have seen enough of royal 
banquets, and enough of Norman courtesy.” 6 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room, followed 
by Athelstane, and by several other guests, who partaking of 
the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted by the sarcasms 
of Prince John and his courtiers. 

“By the bones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John, as they re- 10 
treated, “the Saxon churls have borne off the best of the day, 
and have retreated with triumph ! ” 

“ Conclamatum est, poculatum est,’*' said Prior Aymer; 

“ we have drunk and we have shouted, — it were time we left 
our wine flagons.” 15 

“ The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, that 
he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De Bracy. 

“Not so. Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “but I must 
move several miles forward this evening upon my homeward 
journey.” 20 

“They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whisper to 
Fitzurse; “their fears anticipate the event, and this coward 
Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

‘ ‘ Fear not, my lord, ” said Waldemar ; “I will show him such 
reasons as shall induce him to join us when we hold our meet- 25 
ing at York. — Sir Prior,” he said, “ I must speak with you in 
private, before you mount your palfrey.” 

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the excep- 
tion of those immediately attached to Prince John’s faction, and 
his retinue. 30 

“ This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the Prince, 
turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse ; ‘ ‘ that I should 
be bearded at my own board by a drunken Saxon churl, and 
that, on the mere sound of my brother’s name, men should fall 
off from me as if I had the leprosy ? ” 35 

“ Have patience, sir,” replied his counselor; “ I might retort 
your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity which foiled 
my design, and misled your own better judgment. But this is 
no time for recrimination. De Bracy and I will instantly go 

lO 


146 IVANHOE. 

among these shuffliilg cowards, and convince them they have 
gone too far to recede.” 

“ It will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the apartment 
with disordered steps, and expressing himself with an agitation 
5 to which the wine he had drank partly contributed — “ It will 
be in vain — they have seen the handwriting qn the wall — they 
have marked the paw of the lion in the sand — they have heard 
his approaching roar shake the wood-nothing will reanimate 
their courage.” 

10 “Would to God,” said Fitzurse to De Bracy, “ that aught 
could reanimate his own ! His brother’s very name is an ague 
to him. Unhappy are the counselors of a Prince, who wants 
fortitude and perseverance alike in good and in evil ! ” 


CHAPTEK XV. 

And yet he thinks,— ha, ha, ha, ha,— he thinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create, 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things. 

And who will say ’tis wrong ? 

Basil, a Tragedy. 

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered meshes 
15 of his web, than did Waldemar Fitzurse to reunite and combine 
the scattered members of Prince John’s cabal. Few of these 
were attached to him from inclination, and none from personal 
regard. It was therefore necessary, that Fitzurse should open 
to them new prospects of advantage, and remind them of those 
20 which they at present enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles, 
he held out the prospect of unpunished license and uncontrolled 
revelry; to the ambitious, that of power, and to the covetous, 
that of increased wealth and extended domains. The leaders 
of the mercenaries received a donation in gold ; an argument 
25 the most persuasive to their minds, and without which all others 
would have proved in vain. Promises were still more liberally 
distributed than money by this active agent; and, in fine, 
nothing was left undone that could determine the wavering, or 
animate the disheartened. The return of King Richard he 


IVANHOE. 


147 


spoke of as an event altogether beyond the reach of probabil- 
ity; yet, when he observed, from the doubtful looks and uncer- 
tain answers which he received, that this was the apprehension 
by which the minds of his accomplices were most haunted, he 
boldly treated that event, should it really take place, as one 
which ought not to alter their political calculations. 

“If Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, “ he returns to enrich 
his needy and impoverished crusaders at the expense of those 
who did not follow him to the Holy Land. He returns to call 
to a fearful reckoning, those who, during his absence, have 
done aught that can be construed offense or encroachment 
upon either the laws of the land or the privileges of the crown. 
He returns to avenge upon the Orders of the Temple and the 
Hospital, the preference which they showed to Philip of France 
during the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to 
punish as a rebel every adherent of his brother Prince John. 
Are ye afraid of his power ? ” continued the artful confidant 
of that Prince; “we acknowledge him a strong and valiant 
knight ; but these are not the days of King Arthur, when a 
champion could encounter an army. If Richard indeed comes 
back, it must be alone, — unfollowed — unfriended. The bones 
of his gallant army have whitened the sands of Palestine. The 
few of his followers who have returned have straggled hither 
like this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared and broken men. — And 
what talk ye of Richard’s right of birth ? ” he proceeded, in 
answer to those who objected scruples on that head. “ Is 
Richard’s title of primogeniture more decidedly certain than 
that of Duke Robert of Normandy, the Conqueror’s eldest son? 
And yet William the Red, and Henry, his second and third 
brothers, were successively preferred to him by the voice of 
the nation. Robert had every merit which can be pleaded for 
Richard ; he was a bold knight, a good leader, generous to his 
friends and to the church, and, to crown the whole, a crusader 
and a conqueror of the Holy Sepulcher; and yet he died a 
blind and miserable prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because 
he opposed himself to the will of the people, who chose that 
he should not rule over them. It is our right, he said, “ to 
choose from the blood royal the prince who is best qualified to 
hold the supreme power — that is,” said he, correcting himself. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


148 


IVANHOE. 


‘"him whose election will best promote the interests of the 
nobility. In personal qualifications,” he added, “ it was pos- 
sible that Prince John might be inferior to his brother Eichard, 
but when it was considered that the latter returned with the 
5 sword of vengeance in his hand, while the former held out 
rewards, immunities, privileges, wealth, and honors, it could 
not be doubted which was the king whom in wisdom the 
nobility were called on to support.” 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the pecul- 
10 iar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had the ex- 
pected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s faction. Most 
of them consented to attend the proposed meeting at York, for 
the purpose of making general arrangements for placing the 
crown upon the head of Prince John. 

15 It was late at night, when, worn out and exhausted with his 
various exertions, however gratified with the result, Fitzurse, 
returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with De Bracy, who had 
exchanged his banqueting garments for a short green kirtle, 
with hose of the same cloth and color, a leathern cap or head- 
2C piece, a short sword, a horn slung over his shoulder, a long- 
bow in his hand, and a bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. 
Had Fitzurse met this figure in an outer apartment, he would 
have passed him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the 
guard; but finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him 
25 with more attention, and recognized the Norman knight in 
the dress of an English yeoman. 

‘ ‘ What mummery is this, De Bracy ? ” said Fitzurse, some- 
what angrily ; “is this a time for Christmas gambols and 
quaint maskings, when the fate of our master. Prince John, 
30 is on the very verge of decision ? Why hast thou not been, 
like me, among these heartless cravens, whom the very name 
of King Eichard terrifies, as it is said to do the children of the 
Saracens ? ” 

“ I have been attending to mine own business,” answered De 
35 Bracy calmly, “ as you, Fitzurse, have been minding yours.” 

“I minding mine own business!” echoed Waldemar; “I 
have been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint patron.” 

“ As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar,” 
said De Bracy, “than the promotion of thine own individual 


IVANHOE. 


149 


interest ? Come, Fitzurse, we know each other — ambition is 
thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they become our different 
ages. Of Prince John thou thinkest as I do; that he is too 
weak to be a determined monarch, too tyrannical to be an easy 
monarch, too insolent and presumptuous to be a popular mon- 6 
arch, and too fickle and timid to be long a monarch of any 
kind. But he is a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy 
hope to rise and thrive ; and therefore you aid him with your 
policy, and I with the lances of my Free Companions.” 

“ A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse impatiently ; “ playing 10 
the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. — What on earth 
dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise at a moment so 
urgent ? ” 

“ To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy coolly, “ after the 
manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 15 

“The tribe of Benjamin?” said Fitzurse; “I comprehend 
thee not.” 

“Wert thou notin presence yester-even,” said De Bracy, 

“ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to the 
romance which was sung by the Minstrel ? — He told how, 20 
long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose between the tribe 
of Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation; and how 
they cut to pieces well-nigh all the chivalry of that tribe ; and 
how they swore by our blessed Lady that they would not per- 
mit those who remained to marry in their lineage; and how 25 
they became grieved for their vow, and sent to consult his holi- 
ness the Pope how they might be absolved from it ; and how, 
by the advice of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe of 
Benjamin carried off from a superb tournament all the ladies 
who were there present, and thus won them wives without the 30 
consent either of their brides or their brides’ families.” 

“ I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “ though either the 
Prior or thou hast made some singular alterations in date and 
circumstances.” 

“ I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “that I mean to purvey me a 35 
wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is as 
much as to say, that in this same equipment I will fall upon 
that herd of Saxon bullocks, who have this night left the 
castle, and carry off from them the lovely Rowena.” 


150 


IVANHOE. 


“ Art thou mad, De Bracy ? ” said Fitzurse. “ Bethink thee 
that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and powerful 
and regarded with the more respect by their countrymen, that 
wealth and honor are but the lot of few of Saxon descent.” 

5 “ And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “ the work 

of the Conquest should be completed.” 

“ This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse; “the ap- 
proaching crisis renders the favor of the multitude indispen- 
sable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to any one who 
10 injures their favorites.” 

“ Let him grant it, if he dare,” said De Bracy; “ he will soon 
see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty lot of 
spears as mine, and that of a heartless mob of Saxon churls. 
Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not in 
15 this garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn ? The blame of 
the violence shall rest with the outlaws of the Yorkshire forests. 
I have sure spies on the Saxons’ motions — To-night they sleep 
in the convent of St. Wittol, dr Withold, or whatever they 
call that churl of a Saxon saint at Burton-on-Trent. Next 
20 day’s march brings them within our reacli, and, falcon- ways, 
we swoop on them at once. Presently after I will appear in 
mine own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the unfor- 
tunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the rude ravish- 
ers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeuf’s Castle, or to Normandy, 
25 if it should be necessary, and produce her not again to her 
kindred until she be the bride and dame of Maurice de Bracy.” 

“ A marvelously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “ and, as I think, 
not entirely of thine own device. — Come, be frank, De Bracy, 
who aided thee in the invention ? and who is to assist in the 
30 execution ? for, as I think, thine own band lies as far off as 
York.” 

“Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, “it was 
the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out the enter- 
prise, which the adventure of the men of Benjamin suggested 
35 to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, and he and his fol- 
lowers will personate the outlaws, from whom my valorous 
arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the lady.” 

“ By my halidom,” said Fitzurse, “ the plan was worthy of 
your united wisdom ! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is most 


IVANHOE. 


151 


especially manifested in the project of leaving the lady in the 
hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, I think, suc- 
ceed in taking her from her Saxon friends, hut how thou wilt 
rescue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems 
considerably more doubtful — He is a falcon well accustomed 6 
to pounce on a partridge, and to hold his prey fast.” 

“ He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “and cannot therefore 
rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress ; — and to attempt 
aught dishonorable against the intended wife of De Bracy — 

By Heaven ! were he a whole Chapter of his Order in his sin- 10 
gle person, he dared not do me such an injury ! ” 

“Then since naught that I can say,” said Fitzurse, “will 
put this folly from thy imagination, (for well I know the 
obstinacy of thy disposition,) at least waste as little time as 
possible — let not thy folly be lasting as well as untimely.” 15 

“ I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “that it will be the work 
of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head of my dar- 
ing and valorous fellows, as ready to support any bold design 
as thy policy can be to form one. — But I hear my comrades 
assembling, and the steeds stamping and neighing in the outer 20 
court. —Farewell. — I go, like a true knight, to win the smiles 
of beauty.” 

“Like a true knight?” repeated Fitzurse, looking after 
him; “ like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will leave 
the most serious and needful occupation, to chase the down of 25 
the thistle that drives past him. — But is it with such tools that 
I must work ; — and for whose advantage ? — For that of a Prince 
as unwise as he is profligate, and as likely to be an ungrateful 
master as he has already proved a rebellious son and an un- 
natural brother. — But he — he, too, is but one of the tools with 30 
which I labor; and, proud as he is, should he presume to sepa- 
rate his interests from mine, this is a secret which he shall 
soon learn.” 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted by 
the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment, calling out, 35 
“Noble Waldemar Fitzurse!” and, with bonnet doffed, the 
future Chancellor (for to such high preferment did the wily 
Norman aspire) hastened to T*eceive the orders of the future 
sovereign. 


152 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTEE XYI. 

Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; 

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell. 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well ; 

Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days, 

Prayer all his business— all his pleasure praise. 

Parnell. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the tour- 
nament was decided by the exertions of an unknown knight, 
whom, on account of the passive and indifferent conduct which 
he had manifested on the fprmer part of the day, the spec- 
5 tators had entitled, Le ^fdir faineant. This knight had left 
the field abruptly when the victory was achieved ; and when 
he was called upon to receive the reward of his valor, he was 
nowhere to be found . In the meantime, while summoned by 
heralds and by trumpets, the knight was holding his course 
10 northward, avoiding all frequented paths, and taking the 
shortest road through the woodlands. He paused for the night 
at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, 
however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of the 
event of the tourney. 

15 On the next morning the knight departed early, with the 
intention of making a long journey ; the condition of his horse, 
which he had carefully spared during the preceding morning, 
being such as enabled him to travel far without the necessity 
of much repose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the devious 
20 paths through which he rode, so that when evening closed 
upon him, he only found himself on the frontiers of the West 
Hiding of Yorkshire. By this time both horse and man 
required refreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, to 
look out for some place in which they might spend the night, 
25 whicli was now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveler found himself seemed unpropi- 
t/ious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, and he was 
likely to be reduced to the usual expedient of knights-errant, 
who, on such occasions, turned their horses to graze, and laid 


IVANHOE. 


153 


themselves down to meditate on their lady-mistress, with an 
oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight either had no 
mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indifferent in love as he 
seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied by passionate 
reflections upon her beauty and cruelty, to be able to parry the 5 
effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act as a substi- 
tute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. He felt dissat- 
isfied, therefore, when, looking around, he found himself deeply 
involved in woods, through which indeed there were many 
open glades, and some paths, but such as seemed only formed 10 
by the numerous herds of cattle which grazed in the forest, or by 
the animals of chase, and the hunters who made prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his course, 
had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his left, and 
every effort which he might make to pursue his journey was 15 
as likely to lead him out of his road as to advance him on his 
route. After having in vain endeavored to select the most 
beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage of some herds- 
man, or the silvan lodge of a forester, and having repeatedly 
found himselfl totally unable to determine on a choice, the 20 
knight resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse ; experience 
having, on former occasions, made him acquainted with the 
wonderful talent possessed by these animals for extricating 
themselves and their riders on such emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day’s 25 
journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, by 
the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to his own guidance, 
than he seemed to assume new strength and spirit ; and where- 
as formerly he had scarce replied to the spur, otherwise than 
by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidence reposed in GO 
him, pricked up his ears, and assumed, of his own accord, a 
more lively motion. The path which the animal adopted 
rather turned off from the course pursued by the knight during 
the day ; but as the horse seemed confident in his choice, the 
rider abandoned himself to his discretion. 35 

He was justified by the event ; for the footpath soon after 
appeared a little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of a 
small bell gave the knight to understand that he was in the 
vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 


154 


lYANHOE. 


Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on the 
opposite side of which, a rock, rising abruptly from a gently 
sloping plain, offered its gray and weatherbeaten front to the 
traveler. Ivy mantled its sides in some places, and in others 
5 oaks and holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment in the 
cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below, like the 
plumage of the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace to 
that whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of the 
rock, and leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a rude 
10 hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbor- 
ing forest, and secured against the weather by having its crev- 
ices stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The stem of a 
young fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a piece of wood tied 
across near the top, was planted upright by the door, as a rude 
15 emblem of the holy cross. , At a little distance on the right 
hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out of the rock, 
and was received in a hollow stone, which labor had formed 
into a rustic basin. Escaping from thence, the stream mur- 
mured down the descent by a channel which its course had 
20 long worn, and so wandered through the little plain to lose it- 
self in the neighboring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small chapel, of 
which the roof had partly fallen in. The building, when entire, 
had never been above sixteen feet long by twelve feet in {ireadth, 
25 and the roof, low in proportion, rested upon four concentric 
arches which sprung from the four corners of the building, each 
supported upon a short and heavy pillar. The ribs of two of 
these arches remained, though the roof had fallen down be- 
twixt them ; over the others it remained entire. The entrance 
30 to this ancient place of devotion was under a very low round 
arch, ornamented by several coui'ses of that zig-zag molding, 
resembling shark’s teeth, which appears so often in the more 
ancient Saxon architecture. A belfry rose above the porch on 
four small pillars, within which hung the green and weather- 
35 beaten bell, the feeble sounds of which had been some time ^ 
before heard by the Black Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in twi- 
light before the eyes of the traveler, giving him good assurance 
of lodging for the night ; since it was a special du^y of those 


• IVANHOE. 155 

hermits who dwelt in the woods, to exercise hospitality towards 
benighted and bewildered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider minutely 
the particulars which we have detailed, but thanking St. 
Julian (the patron of travelers) who had sent him good har- 
borage, he leaped from his horse and assailed the door of the 
hermitage with the butt of his lance, in order to arouse attention 
and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and the 
reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

“ Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given by a 
deep, hoarse voice from within the hut, “ and disturb not the 
servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening devotions.” 

“Worthy father,” answered the knight, “here is a poor 
wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the oppor- 
tunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.” 

“Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, 
“ it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine me for the 
object of those virtues, instead of the exercise thereof. I have 
no provisions here which even a dog would share with me, 
and a horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise my 
couch — pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.” 

“ But how,” replied the knight, “ is it possible for me to find 
my way through such a wood as this, when darkness is com- 
ing on ? I pray you, reverend father, as you are a Christian, 
to undo your door, and at least point out to me my road.” 

“And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied the 
anchorite, “ to disturb me no more. You have already inter- 
rupted one pater ^ two aves^ and a credo, which I, miserable, 
sinner that I am, should, according to my vow, have said 
before moonrise.” 

“The road — the road!” vociferated the knight, “give me 
directions for the road, if I am to expect no more from thee.” 

“ The road,” replied the hermit, “is easy to hit. The path 
from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence to a ford, 
which, as the rains have abated, may now be passable. When 
thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing 
up the left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous ; and the 
path, which hangs over the river, has lately, as I learn, (for 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


156 


IVANHOE. 


I seldom leave the duties of my chapel), given way in sundry 
places. Thou wilt then keep straight forward — ” 

“ A broken path — a precipice — a ford, and a morass! ” said 
the knight, interrupting him, — “Sir Hermit, if you were the 
5 holiest that ever wore beard or told beads, you shall scarce 
prevail on me to hold this road to-night. I tell thee, that 
thou, who livest by the charity of the country — ill-deserved, as 
I doubt it is — hast no right to refuse shelter to the wayfarer 
when in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, by the 
10 rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself.” 

“Friend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, “be not importu- 
nate ; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon in mine own 
defense, it will be e’en the worse for you.” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, 
15 which the traveler had for some time heard, became ex- 
tremely loud and furious, and made the knight suppose that 
the hermit, alarmed by his threat of making forcible entry, 
had called the dogs who made this clamor to aid him in his 
defense, out of some inner recess in which they had been 
20 kenneled. Incensed at this preparation on the hermit’s part 
for making good his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck 
the door so furiously with his foot, that posts as well as 
staples shook with violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a simi- 
25 lar shock, now called out aloud, “Patience, patience — spare 
thy strength, good traveler, and I will presently undo the 
door, though, it may be, my doing so will be little to thy 
pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened, and the hermit, a large, 
SO strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, girt with 
a rope of rushes, stood before the knight. He had in one hand 
a lighted torch, or link, and in the other a baton of crab-tree, 
so thick and heavy, that it might well be termed a club. Two 
large, shaggy dogs, half greyhound, half mastiff, stood ready 
35 to rush upon the traveler as soon as the door should be opened. 
But when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden 
spurs of the knight, who stood without, the hermit, altering 
probably his original intentions, repressed the rage of his aux- 
iliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort of churlish courtesy, 


IVANHOE. 


157 


invited the knight to enter his hut, making excuse for his un- 
willingness to open his lodge after sunset, by alleging the mul- 
titude of robbers and outlaws who were abroad, and who gavo 
no honor to Our Lady or St. Dunstan, nor to those holy men 
who spent life in their service. 

“The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the knight, 
looking around him, and seeing nothing but a bed of leaves, a 
crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal, with a rough-hewn 
table and two stools, and one or two clumsy articles of furni- 
ture — “the poverty of your cell should seem a sufficient de- 
fense against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aid of two 
trusty dogs, large and strong enough, I think, to pull down a 
stag, and of course, to match with most men.” 

“The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, “ hath 
allowed me the use of these animals, to protect my solitude 
until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch of 
iron which served for a candlestick ; and, placing the oaken 
trivet before the embers of the fire, which he refreshed with 
some dry wood, he placed a stool upon one side of the table, 
and beckoned to the knight to do the same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each other, 
each thinking in his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger 
or more athletic figure than was placed opposite to him. 

“ Eeverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking long and 
fixedly at his host, “ were it not to interrupt your devout medi- 
tations, I would pray to. know three things of your holiness ; 
first, where I am to put my horse ? — secondly, what I can have 
for supper ? — thirdly, where I am to take up my couch for the 
night ? ” 

“ I will reply to you,” said the hermit, “ with my finger, it 
being against my rule to speak by words where signs can an- 
swer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed successively to two 
corners of the hut. “Your stable,” said he, “is there — your 
bed there; and,” reaching down a platter with two handfuls of 
parched pease upon it from the neighboring shelf, and placing 
it upon the table, he added, “ your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the nut, 
brought in his horse, (which in the interim he had fastened to 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


158 


IVANHOE. 


a tree,) unsaddled him with much attention, and spread upon 
the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to compassion 
by the anxiety as well as address which the stranger displayed 
5 in tending his horse ; for, muttering something about proven- 
der left for the keeper’s palfrey, he dragged out of a recess a 
bundle of forage, which he spread before the knight’s charger, 
and immediately afterwards shook down a quantity of dried 
fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider’s couch. 
10 The knight returned him thanks for his courtesy ; and, this 
duty done, both resumed their seats by the table, whereon 
stood the trencher of pease placed between them. The hermit, 
after a long grace, which had once been Latin, but of which 
original language few traces remained, excepting here and there 
Ic the long rolling termination of some word or phrase, set exam- 
ple to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large mouth, 
furnished with teeth which might have ranked with those of 
a boar both in sharpness, and whiteness, some three or four 
dried pease, a miserable grist as it seemed for so large and 
20 able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, laid 
aside his helmet, his corselet, and the greater part of his armor, 
and showed to the hermit ahead thick-curled with yellow hair, 
high features, blue eyes, remarkably bright and sparkling, a 
25 mouth well formed, having an upper lip clothed with mus- 
taches darker than his hair, and bearing altogether the look of 
a bold, daring, and enterprising man, with which his strong 
form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of his 
30 guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round bullet head 
belonging to a man in the prime of life. His close-shaven 
crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled black hair, had 
something the appearance of a parish pinfold begirt by its high 
hedge. The features expressed nothing of monastic austerity, 
35 or of ascetic privations ; on the contrary, it was a bold bluff 
countenance, with broad black eyebrows, a well-turned fore- 
head, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of a trump- 
eter, from which descended a long and curly black beard. 
Such a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man, 


IVANHOE. 


159 


spoke rather of sirloins and haunches, than of pease and pulse. 
This incongruity did not escape the guest. After he had with 
great difficulty accomplished the mastication of a mouthful of 
the dried pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request his 
pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor ; who replied 
to his request by placing before him a large can of the purest 
water from the fountain. 

‘‘ It is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “in which, 
betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred heathen Danes 
and Britons — blessed be his name ! ” And applying his black 
beard to the pitcher, he took a draught much more moderate 
in quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant. 

“ It seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight, “ that 
the small morsels which you eat, together with this holy, but 
somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with you marvelously. 
You appear a man more fit to win the ram at a wrestling match, 
or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or the bucklers at a sword- 
play, than to linger out your time in this desolate wilderness, 
saying masses, and living upon parched pease and cold water.” 

“Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “your thoughts, like 
those of the ignorant laity, are according to the flesh. It has 
pleased Our Lady and my patron saint to bless the pittance 
to which I restrain myself, even as the pulse and water was 
blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego, 
who drank the same rather than defile themselves with the 
wine and meats which were appointed them by the King of 
the Saracens.” 

“ Holy father,” said the knight, “ upon whose countenance 
it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, permit a sin- 
ful layman to crave thy name ? ” 

“ Thou mayst call me,” answered the hermit, “ the Clerk of 
Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these parts — they add, it 
is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not upon that, as being 
unworthy of such addition. — And now, valiant knight, may I 
pray ye for the name of my honorable guest ? ” 

“Truly,” said the knight, “Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 
men call me in these parts the Black Knight, — many, sir, add 
to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious 
to be distinguished.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


160 


IVANHOE. 


The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his guest’s 
reply. 

“ I see, said he, “ Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art a man 
of prudence and of counsel ; and moreover, I see that my poor 
5 monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou 
hast been, to the license of courts and of camps, and the 
luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me. Sir Sluggard, that 
when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk left these dogs 
for my protection, and also those bundles of forage, he left me 
10 also some food, which, being unfit for my use, the very recollec- 
tion of it had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.” 

“ I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight; “ I was con- 
vinced that there was better food in the cell. Holy Clerk, since 
you first doffed your cowl. — Your keeper is ever a jovial f el- 
15 low; and none who beheld thy grinders contending with these 
pease, and thy throat flooded with this uncongenial element, 
could see thee doomed to such horse-provender and horse- 
beverage,” (pointing to the provisions upon the table,) “and 
refrain from mending thy cheer. Let us see the keeper’s 
20 bounty, therefore, wit houf' delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which 
there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if uncer- 
tain how far he should act prudently in trusting his guest. 
There was, however, as much of bold frankness in the knight’s 
25 countenance as was possible to be expressed by features. His 
smile, too, had something in it irresistibly comic, and gave an 
assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his host could not 
refrain from sympathizing. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went to 
30 the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch, which was 
concealed with great care and some ingenuity. Out of the 
recesses of a dark closet, into which this aperture gave admit- 
tance, he brought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter of 
unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed before his 
35 guest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no time in 
making himself acquainted with its contents. 

“ How long is it since the good keeper has been here ? ” said 
the knight to his host, after having swallowed several hasty 
morsels of this reinforcement to the hermit’s good cheer. 


IVANHOE. 


161 


“About two months,” answered the father, hastily. 

“ By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “ everything in 
your hermitage is miraculous. Holy Clerk ! for I would have 
been sworn that the fat buck which furnished this venison had 
been running on foot within the week.” 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observa- 
tion; and, moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing 
on the diminution of the pasty, on which his guest was mak- 
ing desperate inroads ; a warfare in which his previous profes- 
sion of abstinence left him no pretext for joining. 

“ I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, stop- 
ping short of a sudden, “ and I bethink me it is a custom there 
that every host who entertains a guest shall assure him of the 
wholesomeness of his food, by partaking of it along with him. 
Far be it from me to suspect so holy a man of aught inhospi- 
table ; nevertheless I will be highly bound to you would you 
comply with this Eastern custom.” 

“To ease your unnecessary scruples. Sir Knight, I will for 
once depart from my rule,” replied the hermit. And as there 
were no forks in those days, his clutches were instantly in the 
bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of 
rivalry between the guest and the entertainer which should 
display the best appetite ; and although the former had prob- 
ably fasted longest, yet the hermit fairly surpassed him. 

“Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was ap- 
peased, ‘ ‘ I would gage my good horse yonder against a zecchin, 
that that same honest keeper to whom we are obliged for the 
venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or a runlet of canary, or 
some such trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. This 
would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy to dwell 
in the memory of so rigid an anchorite ; yet, I think, were you 
to search yonder crj^pt once more, you would And that I am 
right in my conjecture.” 

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the 
hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might contain 
about four quarts. He also brought forth two large drinking 
cups, made out of the horn of tlieurus, and hooped with silver. 
Having made this goodly provision for washing down the sup- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


162 


IVANHOE. 


per, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious scruple neces- 
sary on his part; but filling both cups, and saying, in the Saxon 
fashion, “ Waes hael^ Sir Sluggish Knight!” he emptied his 
own at a draught. 

5 Drink hael^ Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ! ” answered the 
warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

“Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup was 
swallowed, “ I cannot but marvel that a man possessed of such 
thews and sinews as thine, and who therewithal shows the 
10 talent of so goodly a trencher-man, should think of abiding by 
himself in this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter to 
keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drinking of the 
strong, than to live here upon pulse and water, or even upon 
the charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should 
15 find myself both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. 
There is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck will 
never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s chaplain.” 

“Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “ these are dan- 
gerous words, and I pray you to forbear them. I am true 
20 hermit to the king and law, and were I to spoil my liege’s 
game, I should be sure of the prison, and, an my gown saved 
me not, were in some peril of hanging.” 

“Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “I would 
take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and keepers were 
25 warm in bed, and ever and anon, — as I pattered my prayers, 
— I would let fly a shaft among the herds of dun deer that 
feed in the glades — Eesolve me. Holy Clerk, hast thou never 
practiced such a pastime ? ” 

“ Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “thou hast seen 
30 all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and something 
more than he deserves who takes up his quarters by violence/ 
Credit me, it is better to enjoy the good which God sends thee, 
than to be impertinently curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, 
and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent 
35 inquiries, put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made 
good thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee.” 

“By my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me more 
curious than ever ! Thou art the most mysterious hermit I ever 
met ; and I will know more of thee ere we part. As for thy 


IVANHOE. 


163 


threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to one whose trade it 
is to find out danger wherever it is to be met with.” 

“Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the hermit; 
“respecting thy valor much, but deeming wondrous slightly 
of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms with me, I will 
give thee, in all friendship and brotherly love, such sufficing 
penance and complete absolution, that thou shalt not for the 
next twelve months sin the sin of excess of curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

“There is none,” replied the hermit, “from the scissors of 
Delilah, and the tenpenny nail of Jael, to the scimeter of 
Goliath, at which I am not a match for thee — But, if I am 
to make the election, what sayst thou, good friend, to these 
trinkets ? ” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out from 
it a couple of broadswords and bucklers,' such as were used by 
the yeomanry of the period. The knight, who watched his 
motions, observed that this second place of concealment was 
furnished with two or three good long-bows, a crossbow, a 
bundle of bolts for the latter, and half-a-dozen sheaves of ar- 
rows for the former, A harp, and other matters of a very 
uncanonical appearance, were also visible when this dark 
recess was opened. 

“ I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “ I will ask thee no 
more offensive questions. The contents of that cupboard are 
an answer to all my inquiries ; and I see a weapon there ” 
(here he stooped and took out the harp) ‘ ‘ on which I would 
more gladly prove my skill with thee, than at the sword and 
buckler.” 

“ I hope. Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “ thou hast given no 
good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. I do promise 
thee I suspect thee grievously. Nevertheless, thou art my 
guest, and I will not put thy manhood to the proof without 
thine own free will. Sit thee down, then, and fill thy cup; let 
us drink, sing, and be merry. If thou knowest ever a good 
lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst 
so long as I serve the chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, 
4hall be till I change my gray covering for one of green turf. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


1G4 


IVANHOE. 


But come, fill a flagon, for it will crave some time to tune the 
harp; and naught pitches the voice and sharpens the ear like 
a cup of wine. For my part, I love to feel the grape at my 
very finger-ends before they make the harp-strings tinkle.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portray’d with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed ; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim. 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn, 
#****♦♦ 

Who but would cast his pomp away, 

To take my staff and amice gray, 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage, 

Prefer the peaceful Hermitage ? 

Warton. 

5 Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, 
with which his guest willingly complied, he found it no easy 
matter to bring the harp to harmony. 

‘‘Methinks, holy father,” said he, “the instrument wants 
one string, and the rest have been son^what misused.” 

10 “ Ay, mnrk’st thou that ? ” replied the hermit; “ that shows 

thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” he, added, 
gravely casting up his eyes — “all the fault of wine and was- 
sail ! I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern minstrel, that he would 
damage the harp if he touched it after the seventh cup, but ho 
15 would not be controlled — Friend, I drink to thy successful 
performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same 
time shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings into 
20 some order, and after a short prelude, asked his host whether 
he would choose a sirvente in the language of oc, or a lai in the 
language of oui^ or a virelai, or a ballad in the vulgar English. 

“A ballad, a ballad,” said the hermit, “ against all the ocs 
and Olds of Fivance. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, and 


IVANHOE. 


165 


downright English was my patron St. Dunstan, and scorned oc 
and oui^ as he would have scorned the parings of the devil’s 
hoof — downright English alone shall be sung in this cell.” 

“ I will assay, then,” said the knight, “ a ballad composed by 
a Saxon glee-man, whom I knew in Holy Land.” 5 

It speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a complete 
master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been 
cultivated under the best instructors. Art had taught him 
to soften the faults of a voice which had little compass, and was 
naturally rough rather than mellow, and, in short, had done 10 
all that culture can do in supplying natural deficiencies. His 
performance, therefore, might have been termed very respect- 
able by abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight 
threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of plain- 
tive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the verses 15 
which he sung. 

THE CRUSADER’S RETURN. 

1 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 

From Palestine the champion came ; 

The cross upon his shoulders borne, 

Battle and blast had dimm’d and torn. 

Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour 

2 

“ Joy to the fair !— thy knight behold, 

Return’d from yonder land of gold ; 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, 

Save his good arms, and battle-steed ; 

His spurs, to dash against a foe, 

His lance and sword to lay him low ; 

Such all the trophies of his toil. 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile ! 

3 

** Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favor fired to feats of might ; 

Unnoted shall she not remain. 

Where meet the bright and noble train ; 


166 


IVANHOE. 


Minstrel shall sing and herald tell — 

‘ Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Askalon 1 

4 

“ * Note well her smile !— it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell, 

Iconium’s turban’d Soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades her neck of snow ? 

Twines not of them one golden thread, 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.* 

5 

“Joy to the fair !--my name unknown, 

Each deed, and all its praise thine own ; 

Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate. 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 

During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself much 
like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. He 
reclined back upon his seat, with his eyes half shut; now, 
folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbed 
25 in attention, and anon, balancing his expanded palms, he gently 
fiourished them in time to the music. At one or two favorite 
cadences, he threw in a little assistance of his own, where the 
knight’s voice seemed unable to carry the air so high as his 
worshipful taste approved. When the song was ended, the 
30 anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung. 

“ And yet,” said he, “ I think my Saxon countrymen had 
herded long enough with the Normans, to fall into the tone of 
their melancholy ditties. What took the honest knight from 
home ? or what could he expect but to find his mistress agree- 
35 ably engaged with a rival on his return, and his serenade, as 
they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a cat in 
the gutter ? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, 
to the success of all true lovers — I fear you are none,” he added, 


IVANHOE. 


167 


on observing that the knight (whose brain began to be heated 
with these repeated draughts) qualified his fiagon from the 
water pitcher. 

“Why,” said the knight, “did you not tell me that this 
water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dunstan? ” 6 
“Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “and many a hundred of 
pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank 
any of it. Everything should be put to its proper use in this 
world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, the prerogatives 
of a jovial friar.” 10 

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained his guest 
with the following characteristic song, to a sort of derry-down 
chorus, appropriate to an old English ditty. 

THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

1 

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain ; 

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 

So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

2 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 

And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a spear. 

I confess him in haste— for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 

3 

Your monarch ? — Pshaw I many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown, 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar I 

4 

The Friar has walked out, and where’er he has gone, 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own ; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires, 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

5 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge ofi plums ; 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire. 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar, 


168 


lYANHOE. 


6 

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot, 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot, 
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, 
Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 


Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar, 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

“ By my troth,” said the knight, “ thou hast sung well and 
10 lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, talking of the 
devil, Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he may pay you a 
visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes? ” 

' ‘ I uncanonical ! ” answered the hermit ; ‘ ‘ I scorn the charge 
— I scorn it with my heels! — I serve the duty of my chapel 
15 duly and truly — Two masses daily, morning and evening, 
primes, noons, and vespers, aves^ credos^ paters — ” 

‘‘ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in season,” 
said his guest. 

‘ ‘ Except is excipiendis^^^ replied the hermit, ‘ ‘ as our old abbot 
20 taught me to say, when impertinent laymen should ask me if 
I kept every punctilio of mine order.” 

“ True, holy father,” said the knight; “but the devil is apt 
to keep an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, thou knowest, 
like a roaring lion.” 

25 “ Let him roar here if he dares,” said the friar; “ a touch of 

my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs of Saint Dun- 
stan himself did. I never feared man, and I as little fear the 
devil and his imps. Saint Dunstan, Saint Dubric, Saint Wini- 
bald, Saint Winifred, Saint Swibert, Saint W^illick, not for- 
30 getting Saint Thomas a Kent, and my own poor merits to 
speed, I defy every devil of them, come cut and long tail. — 
But to let you into a secret, I never speak upon such subjects, 
my friend, until after morning vespers.” 

He changed the conversation; fast and furious grew the 
35 mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged betwixt 
them, when their revels were interrupted by a loud knocking 
at the door of the hermitage. 


lYANfiOE. 


1G9 


The occasion of this interruption we can only explain by 
resuming the adventures of another set of our characters; for, 
like old Ariosto, we do not pique ourselves upon continuing 
uniformly to keep company with any one personage of our ^ 
drama. 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 

Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 

Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley — 

Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne ; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 


When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless in 
the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the 
custody and care of his own attendants, but the words choked 
in his throat. He could not bring himself to acknowledge, in 
presence of such an assembly, the son whom he had renounced 
and disinherited. He ordered, however, Oswald to keep an eye 
upon him ; and directed that officer, with two of his serfs, to 
convey Ivanhoeto Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. 

Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office. The 
crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere to be 
seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cup-bearer looked around for his 
young master. He saw the bloody spot on which he had lately 
sunk down, but himself he saw no longer; it seemed as if the 
fairies had conveyed him from the spot. Perhaps Oswald (for 
the Saxons were very superstitious) might have adopted some 
such hypothesis, to account for Ivanhoe’s disappearance, had 
he not suddenly cast his eye upon a person attired like a squire, 
in whom he recognized the features of his fellow-servant Gurth. 
Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in despair at his 
sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd was searching 
for him everywhere, and had neglected, in doing so, the con- 


10 


15 


20 


25 


170 


IVANHOE. 


cealment on which his own safety depended. Oswald deemed 
it his duty to secure Gurth, as a fugitive of whose fate his 
master was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, the 
5 only information which the cup-bearer could collect from the 
bystanders was, that the knight had been raised with care by 
certain well-attired grooms, and placed in a litter belonging to 
a lady among the spectators, which had immediately trans- 
ported him out of the press. Oswald, on receiving this intelli- 
10 gence, resolved to return to his master for farther instructions, 
carrying along with him Gurth, whom he considered in some 
sort as a deserter from the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing appre- 
hensions concerning his son ; for Nature had asserted her rights, 
15 in spite of the patriotic stoicism which labored to disown her. 
But no sooner was he informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, 
and probably in friendly hands, than the paternal anxiety which 
had been excited by the dubiety of his fate, gave way anew to 
the feeling of injured pride and resentment, at what he termed 
20 Wilfred’s filial disobedience. ‘ ‘ Let him wander his way,” said 
he, — “ let those leech his wounds for whose sake he encoun- 
tered them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks of the Nor- 
man chivalry than to maintain the fame and honor of his 
English ancestry with the glaive and brown-bill, the good old 
25 weapons of his country.” 

“ If to maintain the honor of ancestry,” said Rowena, who 
was present, “it is sufficient to be wise in council and brave 
in execution — to be boldest among the bold, and gentlest among 
the gentle, I know no voice save his father’s — ” 

30 “Be silent. Lady Rowena! — on this subject only I hear you 
not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival : we have been 
summoned thither with unwonted circumstance of honor and 
of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans have rarely used 
to our race since the fatal day of Hastings. Thither will I go, 
35 were it only to show these proud Normans how little the fate 
of a son, who could defeat their bravest, can affect a Saxon.” 

“Thither,” said Rowena, “ do I not go; and I pray you to 
beware, lest what you mean for courage and constancy shall 
be accounted hardness of heart.” 


IVANHOE. 


171 


“ Eemain at home, then, ungrateful lady,” answered Cedric; 

“ thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the weal of an 
oppressed people to an idle and unauthorized attachment. I 
seek the noble Athelstane, and with him attend the banquet 
of John of Anjou.” 5 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have 
already mentioned the principal events. Immediately upon 
retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with their attend- 
ants, took horse ; and it was during the bustle which attended 
their doing so, that Cedric, for the first time, cast his eyes 10 
upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned from 
the banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid humor, and 
wanted but a pretext for wreaking his anger upon some one. ^ 
“The gyves!” he said, “the gyves! — Oswald — Hundibert! 
Dogs and villains! — why leave ye the knave unfettered? ” 15 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth 
bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord which occurred. 

He submitted to the operation without remonstrance, except 
that, darting a reproachful look at his master, he said, “ This 
comes of loving your fiesh and blood better than mine own.” 20 
“To horse, and forward! ” said Cedric. 

“ It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane; “ for if 
we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Waltheoff’s prepara- 
tions for a rere-supper will be altogether spoiled.” 

The travelers, however, used such speed as to reach the con- 25 
vent of St. Witliold’s before the apprehended evil took place. 
The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, received the 
noble Saxons with the profuse and exuberant hospitality of 
their nation, wherein they indulged to a late, or rather an early, 
hour ; nor did they take leave of their reverend host the next 30 
morning until they had shared with him a sumptuous refec- 
tion. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an incident 
happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of all people 
of Europe, were most addicted to a superstitious observance 35 
of omens, and to whose opinions can be traced most of those 
notions upon such subjects still to be found among our popular 
antiquities. For the Normans being a mixed race, and better 
informed according to the inform ation'of the times, had lost 


172 


lYANHOE. 


most of the superstitious prejudices Avliich their ancestors had 
brought from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon tliink- 
ing freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending 
5 evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet than a large 
lean black dog, which, sitting upright, howled most piteously 
as the foremost riders left the gate, and presently afterwards, 
barking wildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed bent upon 
attaching itself to the party. 

10 “I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athelstane; for 
by this title of respect he w^as accustomed to address him. 

“Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear we 
shall have to pay the piper.” 

“In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory the 
15 Abbot’s good ale (for Burton was already famous for that 
genial liquor) had made a favorable impression, — “in my 
mind we had better turn back, and abide with the Abbot 
until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your path 
is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have 
20 eaten your next meal.” 

“Awayi” said Cedric, impatiently; “the day is already 
too short for our journey. For the dog, I know it to be the 
cur of the ininaway slave Gurth, a useless fugitive like its 
master.” 

25 So saying, and rising at the same timq in his stirrups, 
impatient at the interruption of his journey, he launched his 
javelin at poor Fangs — for Fangs it was, who, having traced 
his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, had here lost 
him, and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing at his reap- 
30 pearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the animal’s 
shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth; and 
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. 
Gurth’s heart swelled within him; for he felt this meditated 
slaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree much deeper 
35 than the harsh treatment he had himself received. Hav- 
ing in vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes, he said 
to Wamba, who, seeing his master.’s ill-humor, had prudently 
retreated to the rear, “ I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe 
my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, 


IVANHOE. 173 

and these bonds will not let me help myself one way or an- 
other.” 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side 
by side for some time, during which Gurth maintained a 
moody silence. At length he could repress his feelings no 5 
longer. 

‘‘Friend Wamba,” said he, “ of all those who are fools 
enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough to 
make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, and 
tell him that neither for love nor fear will Gurth serve him 1C 
longer. He may strike the head from me— he may scourge 
me — he may load me with irons — but henceforth he shall 
never compel me either to love or to obey him. Go to him, 
then, and tell him that Gurth the son of Beowulph renounces 
his service.” 15 

“Assuredly,” said Wamba, “fool as I am, I shall not do 
your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into 
his girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss his 
mark.” 

“ I care not,” replied Gurth, “ how soon he makes a mark 20 
of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young master, in his 
blood. To-day he has striven to kill before my face the only 
other living creature that ever showed me kindness. By Saint 
Edmund, Saint Dunstan, Saint Withold, Saint Edward the 
Confessor, and every other Saxon saint in the calendar ” (for 25 
Cedric never swore by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and 
all his household had the same limited devotion), “ I will never 
forgive him ! ” 

“ To my thinking, now,” said the Jester, who was frequently 
wont to act as peace-maker in the family, “our master did go 
not propose to hurt Fangs, but only to affright him. For, if 
you observed, he rose in his stirrups, as thereby meaning to 
overcast the mark ; and so he would have done, but Fangs 
happening to bound up at the very moment, received a 
scratch, which I will be bound to heal with a penny’s breadth 35 
of tar.” 

“If I thought so,” said Gurth — “if I could but think so — 
but no — I saw the javelin was well aimed — 1 heard it whizz 
through the air with all the wrathful malevolence of him who 


174 


IVANHOE. 


cast it, and it quivered after it had pitched in the ground, as 
if with regret for having missed its mark. By the hog dear to 
St. Anthony, I renounce )aim ! ” 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, 
5 which no efforts of the Jester could again induce him to break. 
Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the troop, 
conversed together on the state of the land, on the dissensions 
of the royal family, on the feuds and quarrels among the Nor- 
man nobles, and on the chance which there was that the 
10 oppressed Saxons might be able to free themselves from the 
yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate themselves into 
national consequence and independence, during the civil con- 
vulsions which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric 
was all animation. The restoration of the independence of his 
15 race was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly sac- 
rificed domestic happiness, and the interests of his own son. 
But, in order to achieve this great revolution in favor of the 
native English, it was necessary that they should be united 
among themselves, and act under an acknowledged head. The 
20 necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon blood- royal 
was not only evident in itself, but had been made a solemn 
condition by those whom Cedric had intrusted with his secret 
plans and hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least ; and 
though he had few mental accomplishments or talents to rec- 
25 ommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly person, was no 
coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises, and seemed 
willing to defer to the advice of counselors more wise than 
himself. Above all, he was known to be liberal and hospi- 
table, and believed to be good-natured. But whatever preten- 
30 sions Athelstane had to be considered as head of the Saxon 
confederacy, many of that nation were disposed to prefer to his 
the title of the Lady Eowena, who drew her descent from 
Alfred, and whose father having been a chief renowned for 
wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory was highly hon- 
35 ored by his oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he been 
so disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a third party, 
as formidable at least as any of the others. To counterbalance 
their royal descent, he had courage, activity, energy, and, 


IVANHOE. 


175 


above all, that devoted attachment to the cause which had 
procured him the epithet of The Saxon, and his birth was in- 
ferior to none, excepting only that of Athelstane and his ward. 
These qualities, however, were unalloyed by the slightest shade 
of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yet farther his weak- 5 
ened nation by forming a faction of his own, it was a leading 
part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that wTiich already existed, 
by promoting ^ marriage betwixt Eowena and Athelstane. 
An obstacle occurred to this his favorite project, in the mutual 
attachment of his ward and his son; and hence the original 10 
cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the house of his father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopes that, during 
Wilfred’s absence, Eowena might relinquish her preference, 
but in this hope he was disappointed ; a disappointment which 
might be attributed in part to the mode in which his ward had 15 
been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of Alfred was as 
that of a deity, had treated the sole remaining scion of that 
great monarch with a degree of observance, such as, perhaps, 
was in those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. 
Eowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his house- 20 
hold ; and Cedric himself, as if determined that her sovereignty 
should be fully acknowledged within that little circle at least, 
seemed to take a pride in acting as the first of her subjects. 
Thus trained in the exercise not only of free will, but despotic 
authority, Eowena was, by her previous education, disposed 25 
both to resist and to resent any attempt to control her affec- 
tions, or dispose of her hand contrary to her inclinations, and 
to assert her independence in a case in which even those 
females who have been trained up to obedience and subjection, 
are not infrequently apt to dispute the authority of guardians 30 
and parents. The opinions which she felt strongly, she avowed 
boldly; and Cedric, who could not free himself from his habit- 
ual deference to her opinions, felt totally at a loss how to en- 
force his authority of guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the pros- 35 
pect of a visionary throne. Eowena, who possessed strong 
sense, neither considered his plan as practicable, nor as desir- 
able, so far as she was concerned, could it have been achieved. 
Without attempting to conceal her avowed preference of Wil- 


176 


IVANHOE. 


fred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that favored knight 
out of question, she would rather take refuge in a convent, 
than share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having always 
despised, she now began, on account of the trouble she received 
^ on his account, thoroughly to detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s constancy 
was far from strong, persisted in using every means in his 
power to bring about the proposed match, in which he con* 
ceived he was rendering an important service to the Saxon 
cause. The sudden and romantic appearance of his son in tlie 
lists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost a death’s blow 
to his hopes. His paternal affection, it is true, had for an 
instant gained the victory over pride and patriotism ; but both 
had returned in full force, and under their joint operation, he 
was now bent upon making a determined effort for the union 
of Athelstane and Eowena, together with expediting those 
other measures which seemed necessary to forward the restora- < 
tion of Saxon independence. ■ 

On this last subject, he w^as now laboring with Athelstane, j 
not without having reason, every now and then, to lament, like j 
Hotspur, that he should have moved such a dish of skimmed | 
milk to so honorable an action. Athelstane, it is true, was 
vain enough, and loved to have his ears tickled with tales of 
his high descent, and of his right by inheritance to homage 
and sovereignty. But his petty vanity was sufficiently grati- 
fied by receiving this homage at the hands of his immediate 
attendants, and of the Saxons who approached him. If he had 
the courage to encounter danger, he at least hated the trouble 
of going to seek it ; and while he agreed in the general princi- 
pies laid down by Cedric concerning the claim of the Saxons 
to independence, and was still more easily convinced of his own 
title to reign over them when that independence should be at- 
tained, yet when the means of asserting these rights came to 
be discussed, he was still “Athelstane the Unready,” slow, 
irresolute, procrastinating, and unenterprising. The warm 
and impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as little effect up- i 
on his impassive temper, as red-hot balls alighting in the w^ater, ■ 
which produce a little sound and smoke, and are instantly 
extinguished. [ 


1 


IVANHOE. 


177 


If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spurring 
a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric fell back 
to his ward Eowena, he received little more satisfaction from 
conferring with her. For, as his presence interrupted the dis- 
course between the lady and her favorite attendant upon the 5 
gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to revenge 
both her mistress and herself by recurring to the overthrow of 
Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject which 
could greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, there- 
fore, the day’s journey was fraught with all manner of dis- 10 
pleasure and discomfort; so that he more than once inter- 
nally cursed the tournament, and him who had proclaimed 
it, together with his own folly in ever thinking of going 
thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travelers paused t5 
in a woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their horses and 
paHake of some provisions, with which the hospitable Abbot 
had loaded a sumpter mule. Their repast was a pretty long 
one ; and these several interruptions rendered it impossible for 
them to hope to reach Rotherwood without traveling all night, ^0 
a conviction which induced them to proceed on their way at a 
more hasty pace than they had hitherto used. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scatter’d words discover’d. 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear). 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orra, a Tragedy, 

The travelers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held dan- 
gerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom oppres- ?5 
sion and poverty had driven to despair, and who occupied the 
forests in such large bands as could easily bid defiance to the 
feeble police of the period. From these rovers, however, not- 
withstanding the lateness of the hour, Cedric and Athelstane 


178 


IVANHOE. 


accounted themselves secure, as they had in attendance ten 
servants, besides Wamba and Gurth, whose aid could not be 
counted upon, the one being a jester and the other a captive. 
It may be added, that in traveling thus late through the forest, 
5 Cedric and Athelstane relied on their descent and character, 
as well as their courage. The outlaws, whom the severity of 
the forest laws had reduced to this roving and desperate mode 
V of life, were chiefly peasants and yeomen of Saxon descent, 
and were generally supposed to respect the persons and prop- 
10 erty of their countrymen. 

As the travelers journeyed on their ^V'ay, they were alarmed 
by repeated cries for assistance ; and when they rode up to the 
place from whence they came, they were surprised to find a 
horse-litter placed upon the ground, beside which sat a young 
15 woman, richly dressed in the Jewish fashion, while an old man, 
whose yellow cap proclaimed him to belong to the same nation, 
walked up and down with gestures expressive of the deepest 
despair, and wrung his hands, as if affected by some strange 
disaster. 

20 To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew could 
for some time only answer by invoking the protection of all 
the patriarchs of the Old Testament successively against the 
sons of Ishmael, who were coming to smite them, hip and 
thigh, with the edge of the sword. When he began to come 
25 to himself out of this agony of terror, Isaac of York (for it 
was our old friend) was at length able to explain that he had 
hired a body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules 
for carrying the litter of a sick friend. This party had under- 
taken to escort him as far as Doncaster. They had come thus 
30 far in safety ; but having received information from a wood- 
cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws lying in wait 
in the woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries had not only 
taken flight, hut had carried off with them the horses which 
bore the litter, and left the Jew and his daughter without the 
35 means either of defense or of retreat, to be plundered, and 
probably murdered, by the banditti, who they expected every 
moment would bring down upon them. “ Would it but please 
your valors,” added Isaac, in a tone of deep humiliation, “ to 
/ permit the poor Jews to travel under your safeguard, I swear 


IVANHOE. 


179 


by the tables of our law that never has favor been conferred 
upon a child of Israel since the days of our captivity, which 
shall be more gratefully acknowledged.” 

“Dog of a Jew !” said Athelstane, whose memory was of 
that petty kind that stores up trifles of all kind s, but particularly 6 
trifling offenses, “dost not remember how thou didst beard 
us in the gallery at the tilt-yard ? Fight or flee, or compound 
with the outlaws as thou dost list, ask neither aid nor company 
from us; and if they rob only such as thee, who rob all the 
world, I, for mine own share, shall hold them right honest 10 
folk.” 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his companion. 

“ We shall do better,” said he, “ to leave them two of our at- 
tendants and two horses to convey them back to the next vil- 
lage. It will diminish our strength but little; and with your 15 
good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of those who re- 
main, it will be light work for us to face twenty of those 
runagates.” 

Eowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws in 
force, and so near them, strongly seconded the proposal of her 20 
guardian. But Eebecca, suddenly quitting her dejected pos- 
ture, and making her way through the attendants to the pal- 
frey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the Oriental 
fashion in addressing superiors, kissed the hem of Eowena’s 
garment. Then rising, and throwing back her veil, she im- 25 
plored her in the great name of the God whom they both 
worshiped, and by that revelation of the Law upon Mount 
Sinai, in which they both believed, that she would have com- 
passion upon them, and suffer them to go forward under their 
safeguard. “ It is not for myself that I pray this favor,” said 30 
Eebecca; “ nor is it even for that poor old man. I know that 
to wrong and to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit, 
with the Christians ; and what is it to us whether it be done in 
the city, in the desert, or in the field ? But it is in the name 
of one dear to many, and dear even to you, that I beseech you 35 
to let this sick person be transported with care and ten- 
derness under your protection. For, if evil chance him, the 
last moment of your life would be embittered with regret for 
denying that which I ask of you.” 


180 


IVANHOE. 


The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made this 
appeal, gave it double weiglit with the fair Saxon. 

“ The man is old, and feeble,” she said to her guardian, “ the 
maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and in peril of 
5 his life — Jews though they be, we cannot as Christians leave 
them in this extremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter- 
mules, and put the baggage behind two of the serfs. The mules 
may transport the litter, and we have led horses for the old 
man and his daughter.” 

10 Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athelstane 

only added the condition, that they should travel in the rear 
of the whole party, where Wamba,” he said, “might attend 
them with his shield of boar’s brawn.” 

“ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the 
15 Jester, “as has been the fate of many a better knight than 
myself.” 

Athelstane colored deeply, for such had been his own fate 
on the last day of the tournament; while Rowena, who was 
pleased in the same proportion, as if to make amends for the 
20 brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, requested Rebecca to ride 
by her side. 

“ It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, with 
proud humility, “ where my society might be held a disgrace 
to my protectress.” 

25 By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved ; for 
the single word ‘ ‘ outlaws ” rendered every one sufficiently alert, 
and the approach of twilight made the sound yet more impres- 
sive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback, in 
the course of which removal he prevailed upon the Jester to 
30 slack the cord with which his arms were bound. It was so 
negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the part of 
Wamba, that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms 
altogether from bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, he 
made his escape from the party. 

35 The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time be- 
fore Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be placed for the 
rest of the journey behind a servant, every one supposed that 
some other of his companions had him under his custody, and 
when it began to be whispered among them that Gurth had 


IVANHOE. 


181 


actually disappeared, they were under such immediate expecta- 
tion of an attack from the outlaws, that it was not held con- 
venient to pay much attention to the circumstance. 

The path upon which the party traveled was now so narrow 
as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, above two riders 
abreast, and began to descend into a dingle, traversed by a 
brook whose banks were broken, swampy, and overgrown with 
dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, who were at the head 
of their retinue, saw the risk of being attacked at this pass ; 
but neither of them having had much practice in war, no better 
mode of preventing the danger occurred to them than that they 
should hasten through the defile as fast as possible. Advanc- 
ing, therefore, without much order, they had just crossed the 
brook with a part of their followers, when they were assailed 
in front, fiank, and rear at once, with an impetuosity to which, 
in their confused and ill-prepared condition, it was impossible 
to offer effectual resistance. The shout of “A white dragon ! 

' — a white dragon ! — Saint George for merry England ! ” war- 
cries adopted by the assailants, as belonging to their assumed 
character of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every side, and on 
every side enemies appeared with a rapidity bf advance and 
attack which seemed to multiply their numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same 
moment, and each under circumstances expressive of his char- 
acter. Cedric, the instant that an enemy appeared, launched 
at him his remaining javelin, which, taking better effect than 
that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the man against an 
oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far 
successful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, dra^ving 
his sword at the same time, and striking with such incon- 
siderate fury, that his weapon encountered a thick branch 
which hung over him, and he was disarmed by the violence of 
his own blow. He was instantly made prisoner, and pulled 
from his horse by two or three of the banditti who crowded 
around him. Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle hav- 
ing been seized, and he himself forcibly dismounted, long be- 
fore he could draw his weapon, or assume any posture of effec- 
tual defense. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


182 


IVAN HOE. 


terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the 
assailants; while the Lady Eowena, in the center of the caval- 
cade, and the Jew and his daughter in the rear, experienced 
the same misfortune. 

6 Of aU the train none escaped except Wamba, who showed 
upon the occasion much more courage than those who pre- 
tended to greater sense. He possessed liimself of a sword be- 
longing to one of the domestics, who was just drawing it with 
a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about him like a lion, drove 
10 back several who approached him, and made a brave though 
ineffectual attempt to succor his master. Finding himself 
overpowered, the Jester at length threw himself from his horse, 
plunged into the thicket, and favored by the general confusion, 
escaped from the scene of action. 

15 Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself safe, 
hesitated more than once whether he should not turn back and 
share the captivity of a master to whom he was sincerely 
attached. 

“ I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,” he said 
20 to himself, “but I wish any wise man would teach me what 
use to make of it noAv that I have it.” 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near him 
called out in a low and cautious tone, “ Wamba! ” and, at the 
same time, a dog, whicfi he recognized to be Fangs, jumped up 
25 and fawned upon him. “Gurth!” answered Wamba, with 
the same caution, and the swineherd immediately stood before 
him. 

• “ What is the matter ? ” said he eagerly; “ what mean these 
cries, and that clashing of swords ? ” 

30 “ Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “ they are all 

prisoners.” 

“ Who are prisoners ?” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

“ My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundibert, and 
Oswald.” 

35 “In the name of God ! ” said Gurth, “ how came they pris 
oners ? — and to whom ? ” 

“ Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester; “ and 
Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other person was 
ready at all. And they are prisoners to green cassocks, and 


IVANHOE. 


183 


black visors. And they lie all tumbled about on the green, 
like the crab-apples that you shake down to your swine. And 
I would laugh at it,” said the honest Jester, “ if I could for 
weeping.” And he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled — ‘‘Wamba,” he said, “thou 5 
hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain, 

— we are only two — but a sudden attack from men of resolu- 
tion will do much — follow me! ” 

“ Whither ? — and for what purpose? ” said the Jester. 

“ To rescue Cedric.” 10 

“But you have renounced his service but now,” said 
Wamba. 

“That,” said Gurth, “ was but while he was fortunate — fol- 
low me I” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly 15 
made his appearance, and commanded them both to halt. 
From his dress and arms, Wamba would have con jectured him 
to be one of those outlaws who had just assailed his master; 
but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldric across 
his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which it supported, as 20 
well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice and 
manner, made him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognize 
Locksley the yeoman, who had been victorious, under such 
disadvantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of 
archery. 25 

“What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “ or who is it 
that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these forests ? ” 
“You may look at their cassocks close by,” said Wamba, 

“ and see whether they be thy children’s coats or no — for they 
are as like thine own, as one green pea-cod is to another.” 30 
“I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley; “ and I 
charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from the place 
where ye stand until I have returned. Obey me, and it shall 
be the better for you and your masters. Yet stay, I must 
render myself as like these men as possible.” 35 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took a 
feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba; then drew a 
vizard from his pouch, and repeating his charges to them to 
stand fast, went to execute his purposes of reconnoitering. 


184 


IVANHOE. 


“ Shall we stand fast, Giirth ?” said Wamba; “or shall we 
e’en give him leg-bail ? — In my foolish mind, he had all the 
equipage of a thief too much in readiness, to be himself a true 
man.” 

5 “ Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “ an he will. We can 

be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to that party 
he must already have given them the alarm, and it will avail 
nothing either to fight or fly. Besides, I have late experience, 
that arrant thieves are not the worst men in the world to have 
10 to deal with.” 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

“ Friend Gurth,” he said, “ I have mingled among yon men, * 
and have learnt to whom they belong, and whither they are 
bound. There is, I think, no chance that they will proceed to 
15 any actual violence against their prisoners. For three men to 
attempt them at this moment, were little else than madness; 
for they are good men of war, and have, as such, placed senti- 
nels to give the alarm when any one approaches. But I trust 
soon to gather such a force, as may act in defiance of all their 
20 precautions ; you are both servants, and, as I think, faithful 
servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights of Eng- 
lishmen. He shall not want English hands to help him in this 
extremity. Come then with me, until I gather more aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, fol- 
25 lowed by the Jester and the swineherd. It was not consistent 
with Wamba’s humor to travel long in silence. 

“I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle which 
he still carried, “ that I saw the arrow shot which won this gay 
prize, and that not so long since as Christmas.” 

30 “And I,” said Gurth, “could take it on my halidom, that 
I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who. w(>n it, by 
night as well as by day, and that the moon i^ not three days 
older since I did so.” ^ * " 

“ Mine honest friends,” replied the y-eoman, “ who, or what 
35 1 am, is little to the present purpose ; should I free your master, 
you will have reason to think me the best friend you have ever 
had in your lives. And whether I am known by one name or 
another — or whether I can draw a bow as well or better than 
a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleasure to walk in sunshine 


IVANHOE. 


185 


or by moonlight, are matters, which, as they do not. con- 
cern you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting 
them.” 

“Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, in a 
whisper to Gurth, “get them out how we can.” 

“Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “Offend him not by thy 
folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

When autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 

How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing ; 

And like the bird that hails the sun. 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St, Clement's Well, 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the servants of 
Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small opening 
in the forest, in the center of vrhich grew an oak-tree of enor- 
mous magnitude, throwing its twisted branches in every direc- 
tion. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen lay stretched on 
the ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro in the 
moonlight shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch in- 
stantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly started up 
and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on the string were 
pointed towards the quarter from which the travelers ap- 
proached, when their guide, being recognized, was welcomed 
with every token of respect and attachment, and all signs and 
fears of a rough reception at once subsided. 

“ Where is the Miller? ” was his first question. 

“ On the road towards Rotherham.” 

‘ ‘ With how many ? ” demanded the leader, for such he seemed 
to be. 


5 

10 

15 

20 


186 


IVANHOE. 


'‘With six men and good hope of booty, if it please St. 
Nicholas.” 

“ Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley ; “ and where is Allan-a- 
Dale?” 

5 “Walked up towards the Watling-street, to watch for the 
Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“ That is well thought on also,” replied the Captain; — “and 
where is the Friar? ” 

“ In his cell.” 

10 ‘ ‘ Thither will I go, ” said Locksley. ‘ ‘ Disperse and seek your 

companions. Collect what force you can, for there’s game afoot 
that must be hunted hard, and will turn to bay. Meet me here 
by daybreak. — And, stay,” he added, “ I have forgotten what is 
most necessary of the whole — Two of you take the road quickly 
15 towards Torquilstone, the Castle of Front-de-Boeuf. A set of 
gallants, who have been masquerading in feuch guise as our own, 
,are carrying a band of prisoners thither — Watch them closely, 
for even if they reach the castle before we collect our force, our 
honor is concerned to punish them, and we will find means to 
20 do so. Keep a close watch on them therefore; and dispatch 
one of your comrades, the lightest of foot, to bring the news of 
the yeomen thereabout.” 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with alacrity 
on their different errands. In the meanwhile, their leader and 
25 his two companions, who now looked upon him with great 
respect, as well as some fear, pursued their way to the Chapel 
of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, having in 
front the reverend, though ruinous chapel, and the rude hermit- 
30 age, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba whispered to 
Gurth, “ If this be the habitation of a thief, it makes good the 
old proverb. The nearer the church the farther from God. — 
And by my cockscomb,” he added, “ I think it be even so — 
Hearken but to the black sanctus which they are singing in the 
35 hermitage! ” 

In fact the anchorite and his guest were performing, at the 
full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old dHnking song, 
of which this was the burden ; 


IVANHOE. 


187 


‘‘ Come, trowl the brown, bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy. 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me ; 

Ho ! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.” 

“Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had thrown 
in a few of his own flourishes to help out the chorus. “ But 
who, in the saint’s name, ever expected to have heard such a 
jolly chant come from out a hermits cell at midnight ! ” 

“ Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “ for the jolly Clerk of 
Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in this walk. Men say that the keeper has complained 
to his official, and that he will be stripped of his cowl and cope 
altogether, if he keep not better order.” 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and repeated 
knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite and his guest. 
“ By my beads,” said the hermit, stopping short in a grand 
flourish, “ here come more benighted guests. I would not for 
my cowl that they found us in this goodly exercise. All men 
have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard; ^nd there he those 
malignant enough to construe the hospitable refreshment 
which I have been offering to you, a weary traveler, for the 
matter of three short hours, into sheer drunkenness and 
debauchery, vices alike alien to my profession and my dis- 
position.” 

“Base calumniators!” replied the knight; “I would I had 
the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it is true 
that all have their enemies ; and there he those in this very 
land whom I would rather speak to through the bars of my 
helmet than barefaced.” 

“ Get thine iron pot on thy head, then, friend Sluggard, as 
quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the hermit, “ while I 
remove these pewter flagons, whose late contents run strangely 
in mine own pate; and to drown the clatter — for, in faith, I 
feel somewhat unsteady — strike into the tune which thou 
hearest me sing ; it is no matter for the words — I scarce know 
them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profimdis clamavi, 
under cover of which he removed the apparatus of their ban- 


10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


188 


IVANHOE. 


quet: while the knight, laughing heartily, and arming him- 
self all the while, assisted his host with his voice from time to 
time as his mirth permitted. 

‘ ‘ What devil’s matins are you after at this hour ? ” said a 
5 voice from without. 

“ Heaven forgive you. Sir Traveler! ” said the hermit, whose 
own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, prevented from 
recognizing accents which were tolerably familiar to him — 
“ Wend on your way, in the name of God and Saint Dunstan, 
10 and disturb not the devotions of me and my holy brother.” 

“ Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, “open to 
Locksley ! ” 

“ All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his companion. 

“ But who is he ? ” said the Black Knight; “ it imports me 
15 much to know.” 

“Who is he?” answered the hermit; “I tell thee he is a 
friend.” 

“ But what friend ? ” answered the knight; “ for he may be 
friend to thee and none of mine.” 

20 “What friend?” replied the hermit; “that, now, is one 
of the questions that is more easily asked than answered. 
What friend ? — why, he is, now that I bethink me a little, the 
very same honest keeper I told thee of a while since.” 

“ Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,” replied 
25 the knight, “ I doubt it not. But undo the door to him before 
he beat it from its hinges.” 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful bay- 
ing at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed now to 
recognize the voice of him who stood without; for, totally 
30 changing their manner, they scratched and whined at the 
door, as if interceding for his admission. The hermit speedily 
unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his two com- 
panions. 

“ Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question, -as soon as 
35 he beheld the knight, “what boon companion hast thou 
here ? ” 

“A brother of our order,” replied the friar, shaking his 
head; “ we have been at our orisons all night.” 

“ He is a monk of the church militant, I think,” answered 


IVANHOE. 


189 


Locksley; “and there be more of them abroad. I tell thee, 
friar, thou must lay down the rosary and take up the quarter- 
staff; we shall need every one of our merry men, whether 
clerk or layman.— But,” he added, taking him a step aside, 

“ art thou mad ? to give admittance to a knight thou dost not 5 
know ? Hast thou forgot our articles ? ” 

“ Not know him! ” replied the friar, boldly, “ I know him as 
well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“ And what is his name, then ? ” demanded Locksley. 

“His name,” said the hermit — “his name is Sir Anthony 10 
of Scrablestone — as if- 1 would drink with a man, and did not 
know his name ! ” 

“Thou hast been drinking more than enough, friar,” said 
the woodsman, “ and, I fear, prating more than enough 
too.” 15 

“ Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, “ be not 
wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me the hospi- 
tality which I would have compelled from him if he had re- 
fused it.” 

“Thou compel!” said the friar; “wait but till I have 20 
changed this gray gown for a green cassock, and if I make 
not a quarter- staff ring twelve upon thy pate, I am neither 
true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stripped off his gown, and ap- 
peared in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, over 25 
which he speedily did don a cassock of green, and hose of the ’ 
same color. “I pray thee truss my points,” said he to 
Wamba, “and thou shalt have a cup of sack for thy 
labor.” 

“ Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; “ but think’st thou 30 
it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew thyself from a holy 
hermit into a sinful forester ? ” 

“ Never fear,” said the hermit; “ I will but confess the sins 
of my green cloak to my gray friar’s frock, and all shall be well 
again.” 35 

“Amen!” answered the Jester; “a broadcloth penitent 
should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock may ab- 
solve my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the friar with his assistance in 


190 


IVANHOE. 


tying the endless number of points, as the laces which attached 
the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight a 
little apart, and addressed him thus: “Deny it not. Sir 
5 Knight, you are he who decided the victory to the advantage 
of the English against the strangers on the second day of the 
tournament at Ashby.” 

“ And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman ? ” re- 
plied the knight. 

10 “ I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, “a 

friend to the weaker party.” 

“Such is the duty of a true knight, at least,” replied the 
Black Champion : ‘ ‘ and I would not willingly that there 
were reason to think otherwise of me.” 

15 “ But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “ thou shouldst be 

as well a good Englishman as a good knight ; for that, which 
I have to speak of, concerns, indeed, the duty of every honest 
man, but is more especially that of a true-born native of 
England.” 

20 “You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “to whom 
England, and the life of every Englishman, can be dearer than 
to me.” 

“I would willingly believe so,” said the woodsman, “for 
never had this country such need to be supported by those who 

25 love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of an enterprise, in 
which, if thou be’st really that which thou seemest, thou 
mayst take an honorable part. A band of villains, in the dis- 
guise of better men than themselves, have made themselves 
master of the person of a noble Englishman, called Cedric the 

30 Saxon, together with his ward, and his friend Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, and have transported them to a castte in this 
forest, called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knight 
and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue ? ” 

“I am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the knight; 

35 ‘ ‘ but I would willingly know who you are, who request my 
assistance in their behalf? ” 

“ I am,” said the forester, “ a nameless man; but I am the 
friend of my country, and of my own countr3^’s friends. — With 
this account of me you must for the present remain satisfied. 


IVANHOE. 


191 


the more especially since you yourself desire to continue un- 
known. Believe, however, that my word, when pledged, is as 
inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.” 

“ I willingly believe it,” said the knight; “I have been 
accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read in 
thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask thee no 
further questions, but aid thee in setting at freedom these 
oppressed captives ; which done, I trust we shall part better 
acquainted, and well satisfied with each other.” 

“ So,” said Wamba to Gurth, — for the friar being now fully 
equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other side of 
the hut, had heard the conclusion of the conversation, — “So 
we have got a new ally? — I trust the valor of the knight will 
be truer metal than the religion of the hermit, or the honesty 
of the yeoman ; for this Locksley looks like a born deer-stealer, 
and the priest like a lusty hypocrite.” 

“ Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth; “ it may all be as 
thou dost guess ; but were the horned devil to rise and proffer 
me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and the Lady Bowena, 
I fear I should hardly have religion enough to refuse the foul 
fiend’s offer, and bid him get behind me.” 

The friar was now completely accoutered as a yeoman, with 
sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong partisan over 
his shoulder. He left his cell at the head of the party, and, 
having carefully locked the door, deposited the key under the 
threshold. 

“ Art thou in condition to do good service, friar,” said Locks- 
ley, “ or does the brown bowl still run in thy head?” 

“Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain will 
allay,” answered the priest ; “ something there is of a whizzing 
in my brain, and of instability in my legs, but you shall pres- 
ently see both pass away.” 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the waters 
of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which danced in 
the white moonlight, and took so long a draught as if he had 
meant to exhaust the spring. 

“ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water before. 
Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst? ” said the Black Knight. 

“ Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its liquor by 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


192 


IVANHOE. 


an illegal vent,” replied the friar, “ and so left me nothing to 
drink but my patron’s bounty here.” 

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, he 
washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

5 Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his heavy 
partisan round his head with three fingers, as if he had been 
balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same time, “ Where be 
those false ravishers, who carry off wenches against their 
will ? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I am not man 
10 enough for a dozen of them.” 

“Swearest thou. Holy Clerk?” said the Black Knight. 

“ Clerk me no Clerks,” replied the transformed priest; “ by 
Saint George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shaveling than 
while my frock is on my back. — When I am cased in my green 
15 cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo a lass, with any blithe 
forester in the West Hiding.” 

“Come on. Jack Priest,” said Locksley, “and be silent; 
thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy eve, when the 
Father Abbot has gone to bed. — Come on you, too, my masters, 
20 tarry not to talk of it — I say, come on, we must collect all our 
forces, and few enough we shall have, if we are to storm the 
Castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ What! is it Front-de-Boeuf,” said the Black Knight, “ who 
has stopt on the king’s highway the king’s liege subjects? — Is 
25 he turned thief and oppressor? ” 

“ Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“ And for thief,” said the priest, “I doubt if ever he were 
even half so honest a man as many a thief of my acquaintance.” 

“Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman; “it 
30 were better you led the way to the place of rendezvous, than 
say what should be left unsaid, both in decency and prudence.” 


IVANHOE. 


193 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate, 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d 1 
Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and 
his companions, the armed men by whom the latter had been 
seized hurried their captives along towards the place of secu- 
rity, where they intended to imprison them. But darkness 5 
came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but imper- 
fectly known to the marauders. They were compelled to 
make several long halts, and once or twice to return on their 
road to resume the direction which they wished to pursue. 
The summer morn had dawned upon them ere they could travel 10 
in full assurance that they held the right path. But confi- 
dence returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved rapidly 
forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place be- 
tween the two leaders of the banditti. 

“It is time thou shouldst leave us. Sir Maurice,” said the 15 
Templar to De Bracy , ‘ ‘ in order to prepare the second part of 
thy mystery. Thou art next, thou knowest, to act the Knight 
Deliverer.” 

“I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy; “I will not 
leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de-Boeuf’s 20 
castle. There will I appear before the Lady Rowena in mine 
own shape, and trust that she will set down to the vehemence 
of my passion the violence of which I have been guilty.” 

“ And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy ?” 
replied the Knight Templar. 25 

“ That concerns thee nothing,” answered his companion. 

“I would hope, however. Sir Knight,” said the Templar, 
“that this alteration of measures arises from no suspicion of 
^3 , 


194 


lYANHOE. 


my honorable meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavored to instill 
into thee ? ” 

“My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy; “the 
fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs another; and we 

5 know, that were he to spit fire and brimstone instead^ it would 
never prevent a Templar from following his bent.” 

“ Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the Templar, 

‘ ‘ from dreading at the hands of a comrade and friend the in- 
justice he does to all mankind.” 

10 “ This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” answered 

De Bracy; “ suffice it to say, I know the morals of the Temple- 
Order, and I will not give thee the power of cheating me out 
of the fair prey for which I have run such risks.” 

“ Psha,” replied the Templar, “ what hast thou to fear ? — 

15 Thou knowest the vows of our order.” 

“ Eight well,” said De Bracy, “ and also how they are kept. 
Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a liberal inter- 
pretation in Palestine, and this is a case in which I will trust 
nothing to your conscience.” 

20 “ Hear the truth, then^” said the Templar; “ I care not for 

your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train one who will 
make me a better mate.” 

“ What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel ?” said 
De Bracy. 

25 “No, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. “To the 
waiting- woman will I not stoop. I have a prize among the 
captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!” said De 
Bracy. 

30 “ And if I do,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ who shall gainsay me ? ” 

“ No one that I know,” said De Bracy, “ unless it be your 
vow of celibacy, or a check of conscience for an intrigue with 
a Jewess.” * 

“ For my vow,” said the Templar, “ our Grand Master hath 

35 granted me a dispensation. And for my conscience, a man 
that has slain three hundred Saracens, need not reckon up 
every little failing, like a village girl at her first confession 
upon Good Friday eve.” 

“ Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said De Bracy. 


IVANHOE. 


195 


' Yet I would have sworn thy thought had been more on the old 
usurer’s money-bags than on the black eyes of the daughter.” 

“ I can admire both,” answered the Templar; “besides, the 
old Jew is but half-prize. I must share his spoils with Front- 
de-Boeuf , who will not lend us the use of his castle for nothing. 5 
I must have something that I can term exclusively my own by 
this foray of ours, and I have fixed on the lovely Jewess as my 
peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my drift, thou wilt 
resume thine own original plan, wilt thou not ? — Thou hast 
nothing, thou seest, to fear from my interference.” 10 

“ No,” replied De Bracy, “ I will remain beside my prize. 
What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not the privileges 
acquired by the dispensation of the Grand Master, and the 
merit acquired by the slaughter of three hundred Saracens. 
You have too good a right to a free pardon to render you very 15 
scrupulous about peccadilloes.” 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was endeavor- 
ing to wring out of those who guarded him an avowal of their 
character and purpose. ‘ ‘ You should be Englishmen, ” said he ; 

‘ ‘ and yet, sacred Heaven ! you prey upon your countrymen as 20 
if you were very Normans. You should be my neighbors, 
and, if so, my friends ; for which of my English neighbors 
have reason to be otherwise ? I tell ye, yeomen, that even 
those among ye who have been branded with outlawry have 
had from me protection; for I have pitied their miseries, and 25 
curst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, then, 
would you have of me ? or in what can this violence serve ye? 

— Ye are worse than brute beasts, in your actions, and will you 
imitate them in their very dumbness ? ” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, who 3C 
had too many good reasons for their silence to be induced to 
break it either by his wrath or his expostulations. They con- 
tinued to hurry him along, traveling at a very rapid rate, until, 
at the end of an avenue of huge trees, arose Torquilstone, now 
the hoary and ancient castle of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf. It 35 
was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a donjon, or large 
and high square tower, surrounded by buildings of inferior 
height, which were encircled by an inner courtyard. Around 
the exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from a 


196 


IYANHOE. 


neigliboring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character placed 
him often at feud with his enemies, had made considerable 
additions to the strength of his castle, by building towers upon 
the outward wall, so as to flank it at every angle. The access, 
6 as usual in castles of the period, lay through an arched barbi- 
can, or outwork, which was terminated and defended by a small 
turret at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf s castle 
raise their gray and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in 
10 the morning sun above the wood by which they were sur- 
rounded, than he instantly augured more truly concerning the 
cause of his misfortune. 

“ I did injustice,” he said, “to the thieves and outlaws of 
these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong to their 
15 bands; I might as justly have confounded the foxes of these 
brakes with the ravening w:olves of France. Tell me, dogs — 
is it my life or my wealth that your master aims at? Is it too 
much that two Saxons, myself and the noble Athelstane, should 
hold land in the country which was once the patrimony of our 
20 race? — Put us then to death, and complete your tyranny by 
taking our lives, as you began with our liberties. If the Saxon 
Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to die for her. Tell 
your tyrannical master, I da only beseech him to dismiss the 
Lady Eowena in honor and safety. She is a woman, and he 
25 need not dread her; and with us will die all who dare fight in 
her cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to the 
former, and they now stood before the gate of the castle. De 
Bracy winded his horn three times, and the archers and cross- 
30 bowmen, who had manned the wall upon seeing their approach, 
hastened to lower the drawbridge, and admit them. The pris- 
oners were compelled by their guards to alight, and were con- 
ducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was offered them, 
of wliich none but Athelstane felt any inclination to partake. 
35 Neither had the descendant of the Confessor much time to do 
justice to the good cheer placed before them, for their guards 
gave him and Cedric to understand that they were to be impris- 
oned in a chamber apart from Eowena. Eesistance was vain ; 
and they were compelled to follow to a large room, which. 


IVANHOE. 


197 


rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those refectories 
and chapter-houses which may be still seen in the most ancient 
parts of our most ancient monasteries. 

The Lady Eowena was next separated from her train, and 
conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still without consulting 
her inclination, to a distant apartment. The same alarming 
distinction was conferred on Rebecca, in spite of her father’s 
entreaties, who offered even money, in this extremity of dis- 
tress, that she might be permitted to abide with him. “Base 
unbeliever,” answered one of his guards, “ when thou bast seen 
thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it.” And, 
witliout farther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged 
off in a different direction from the other prisoners. The 
domestics, after being carefully searched and disarmed, were 
confined in another part of the castle; and Rowena was 
refused even the comfort she might have derived from the 
attendance of her handmaiden Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, for 
to them we turn our first attention, although at present used as 
a sort of guard-room, had formerly been the great hall of the 
castle. It was now abandoned to meaner purposes, because 
the present lord, among other additions to the convenience, 
security, and beauty of his baronial residence, had erected 
a new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was supported by 
lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with that higher 
degree of ornament which the Normans had already intro- 
duced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant reflections 
on the past and on the present, while the apathy of his com- 
panion served, instead of patience and philosophy, to defend 
him against everything save the inconvenience of the present 
moment ; and so little did he feel even this last, that he was 
only from time to time roused to a reply by Cedric’s animated 
and impassioned appeal to him. 

“Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and half ad- 
dressing himself to Athelstane, “ it was in this very hall that 
my father feasted with Torquil Wolf ganger, when he enter- 
tained the valiant and unfortunate Harold, then advancing 
against the Norwegians, who had united themselves to the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


198 


IVANHOE. 


rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned the mag- 
nanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel brother. Oft 
have I heard my father kindle as he told the tale. The envoy 
of Tosti was admitted, when this ample room could scarce 
5 contain the crowd of noble Saxon leaders, who were quaffing 
the blood-red wine around their monarch.” 

“ I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part of 
his friend’s discourse, “they will not forget to send us some 
wine and refections at noon — we had scarce a breathing-space 
jQ allowed to break our fast, and I never have the benefit of my 
food when I eat immediately after dismounting from horse- 
back, though the leeches recommend that practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this inter jec- 
tional observation of his friend. 

“The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “ moved up the hall, undis- 
mayed by the frowning countenances of all around him, until 
he made his obeisance before the throne of King Harold. 

“ ‘ What terms,’ he said, ‘ Lord King, hath thy brother Tosti 
to hope, if he should lay down his arms, and crave peace at 
20 thy hands ? ’ 

“ ‘ A brother’s love,’ cried the generous Harold, ‘and the 
fair earldom of Northumberland.’ 

“ ‘ But should Tosti accept these terms,’ continued the envoy, 
‘ what lands shall be assigned to his faithful ally, Hardrada, 
25 King of Norway ? ’ 

“ ‘ Seven feet of English ground,’ answered Harold, fiercely, 
‘ or as Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we may allow 
him twelve inches more.’ 

“The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn was 
30 filled to the Norwegian, who should be speedily in possession 
of his English territory.” 

“I could have pledged him with all my soul,” said Athel- 
stane, “ for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

“ The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with anima- 
35 tion lus tale, though it interested not the listener, “ retreated, 
to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous answer of his injured 
brother. It was then that the distant towers of York, and the 
bloody streams of the Derwent, beheld that direful conflict, in 
which, after displaying the most undaunted valor, the King of 


IVANHOE. 


199 


Norway and Tosti both fell, with ten thousand of their bravest 
followers. Who would have thought that upon the proud day 
when this battle was won, the very gale which waved the Saxon 
banners in triumph was filling the Norman sails, and impel- 
ling them to the fatal shores of Sussex? — Who would have 
thought that Harold, within a few brief days, would himself 
possess no more of his kingdom than the share which he al- 
lotted in his wrath to the Norwegian invader ? — Who would 
< have thought that you, noble Athelstane — that you, descended 
of Harold'S blood, and that I, whose father was not the worst 
defender of the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile 
Norman, in the very hall in which our ancestors held such high 
festival ? ” 

“ It is sad enough,” replied Athelstane; “ but I trust they 
will hold us to a moderate ransom — At any rate it cannot be 
their purpose to starve us outright ; and yet, although it is high 
noon, I see no preparations for serving dinner. Look up at 
the window, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeams if it is 
not on the verge of noon.” 

“It may be so,” answered Cedric; “but I cannot look on 
that stained lattice without its awakening other refiections 
than those which concern the passing moment, or its priva- 
tions. When that window was wrought, my noble friend, our 
hardy fathers knew not the art of making glass, or of staining 
it — The pride of Wolfganger’s father brought an artist from 
Normandy to adorn his hall with this new species of emblazon- 
ment, that breaks the golden light of God’s blessed day into so 
many fantastic hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly, 
cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to the meanest 
native of the household. He returned pampered and proud, to 
tell his rapacious countrymen of the wealth and the simplicity 
; of the Saxon nobles — a folly, O, Athelstane, foreboded of old, 
as well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist and his 
hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity of their manners. 
We made these strangers our bosom friends, our confidential 
servants ; we borrowed their artists and their arts, and despised 
the honest simplicity and hardihood with which our brave an- 
cestors supported themselves, and we became enervated by 
Norman arts long ere we fell under Norman arms. Far better 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


200 


IVANHOE. 


was our homely diet, eaten in peace and liberty, than the luxu- 
rious dainties, the love of which hath delivered us as bondsmen 
to the foreign conqueror ! ” 

“ I should,” replied Athelstane, “hold very humble diet a 
5 luxury at present ; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, that you 
can bear so truly in mind the memory of past deeds, when it 
appeareth you forget the very hour of dinner.” 

“It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, 
“ to speak to him of aught else but that which concerns his 
10 appetite ! The soul of Hardicanute hath taken possession of him, 
and he hath no pleasure save to fill, to swill, and to call for 
more. Alas ! ” said he, looking at Athelstane with compas- 
sion, “that so dull a spirit should be lodged in so goodly a 
form! Alas! that such an enterprise as the regeneration of 
15 England should turn on a hinge so imperfect! Wedded to 
Eowena, indeed, her nobler and more generous soul may yet 
awake the better nature which is torpid within him. Yet how 
should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and I myself remain 
the prisoners of this brutal marauder, and have been made so 
20 perhaps from a sense of the dangers which our liberty might 
bring to the usurped power of his nation ? ” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, 
the door of their prison opened, and gave entrance to a sewer, 
holding his white rod of office. This important person 
25 advanced into the chamber with a grave pace, followed by 
four attendants, bearing in a table covered with dishes, the 
sight and smell of which seemed to be an instant compen- 
sation to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had under- 
gone. The persons who attended on the feast were masked and 
30 cloaked. 

“ What mummery is this ? ” said Cedric ; ‘ ‘ think you that we 
are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we are in the castle 
of your master ? Tell him,” he continued, willing to use this 
opportunity to open a negotiation for his freedom, — “ tell your 
35 master, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, that we know no reason he 
can have for withholding our liberty, excepting his unlawful 
desire to enrich himself at our expense. Tell him that we 
yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we should do 
to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at which 


IVANHOE. 201 

he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing the exac- 
tion is suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

“And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said Athelstane, 

‘ ‘ that I send him my mortal defiance, and challenge him to 5 
combat with me, on foot or horseback, at any secure place, 
within eight days after our liberation; which, if he be a true 
knight, he will not, under these circumstances, venture to re- 
fuse or to delay.” 

“ I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” answered the 10 
sewer; “ meanwhile I leave you to your food.” 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good 
grace; for a large mouthful, which required the exercise of 
both jaws at once, added to a natural hesitation, considerably 
damped the effeqt of the bold defiance it contained. Still, how- 15 
ever, his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incontestable token 
of reviving spirit in his companion, whose previous indifference 
had begun, notwithstanding his respect for Athelstane’s de- 
scent, to wear out his patience. But he now cordially shook 
hands with him in token of his approbation, and was some- 20 
what grieved when Athelstane observed “ that he would fight 
a dozen such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if, by so doing, he could 
hasten his departure from a dungeon where they put so much 
garlic into their pottage.” Notwithstanding this intimation of 
a relapse into the apathy of sensuality, Cedric placed himself 25 
opposite to Athelstane, and soon showed, that if the distresses 
of his country could banish the recollection of food while the 
table was uncovered, yet no sooner were the victuals put there, 
than he proved that the appetite of his Saxon ancestors had 
descended to him along with their other qualities. 30 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, how- 
ever, ere their attention was disturbed even from this most 
serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded before the 
gate. It was repeated three times, with as much violence as 
if it had been blown before an enchanted castle by the destined 35 
knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbican and 
battlement, were to roll off like a morning vapor. The Saxons 
started from the table, and hastened to the window. But their 
curiosity was disappointed ; for these outlets only looked upon 


202 


IVANHOE. 


the court of the castle, and the sound came from beyond its 
precincts. The summons, however, seemed of importance, 
for a considerable degree of bustle instantly took place in the 
castle. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

My daughter ! O my ducats I O my daughter f 

O my Christian ducats 1 

Justice 1 the Law I my ducats, and my daughter I 

Merchant of Venice, 

5 Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as soon 
as their ungratified curiosity should permit them to attend to 
the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we have to look in 
upon the yet more severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. The 
poor Jew had been hastily thrust into a dungeon-vault of the 
10 castle, the floor of which was deep beneath the level of the 
ground, and very damp, being lower than even the moat itself. 
The only light was received through one or two loopholes far 
above the reach of the captive’s hand. These apertures ad- 
mitted, even at midday, only a dim and uncertain light, which 
15 was changed for utter darkness long before the rest of the 
castle had lost the blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which 
had been the portion of former captives, from whom active 
exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung rusted and 
empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of 
20 those sets of fetters there remained two moldering bones, 
which seemed to have been once those of the human leg, as if 
some prisoner had been left not only to perish there, but to be 
consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, 
25 over the top of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, 
half devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled 
a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was more 
composed under the imminent pressure of danger, than he had 
30 seemed to be while affected by terrors, of which the cause was 
as yet remote and contingent-. The lovers of the chase say that 


IVANHOE. 


203 


the hare feels more agony during the pursuit of the greyhounds 
than when she is struggling in their fangs. And thus it is 
probable that the Jews, by the very frequency of their fear on 
all occasions, had their minds in some degree prepared for 
every eifort of tyranny which could be practiced upon them ; 5 
so that no aggression, when it had taken place, could bring 
with it that surprise which is the most disabling quality of 
terror. Neither was it the first time that Isaac had been placed 
in circumstances so dangerous. He had therefore experience 
to guide him, as well as hope, that he might again, as formerly, 10 
be delivered as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had 
upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that 
unbending resolution with which Israelites have been fre- 
quently known to submit to the uttermost evils which power 
and violence can inflict upon them, rather than gratify their 15 
oppressors by granting their demands. 

In this humor of passive resistance, and with his garment 
collected beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet pavement, 
Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, where his folded hands, 
his disheveled hair and beard, his furred cloak and high cap, 20 
seen by the wiry and broken light, would have afforded a 
study for Kembrandt, had that celebrated painter existed at 
the period. The Jew remained, without altering his position, 
for nearly three hours, at the expiry of whidh steps were heard 
on the dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they were with- 25 
drawn — the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, and Eeginald 
Front-de-Boeuf , followed by the two Saracen slaves of the Tem- 
plar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had been 
spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, and who had 30 
hesitated at no means of extending his feudal power, had 
features corresponding to his character, and which strongly 
expressed the fiercer and more malignant passions of the mind. 
The scars with which his visage was seamed would, on features 
of a different cast, have excited the sympathy and veneration 35 
due to the marks of honorable valor ; but, in the peculiar case 
of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the ferocity of his coun- 
tenance, and to the dread which his presence inspired. This 
formidable baron was clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close 


204 


IVANHOE. 


to his body, which was frayed and soiled with the stains of hi? 
armor. He had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his beltr 
which served to counterbalance the weight of the bunch of 
rusty keys that hung at his right side. 

5 The black slaves who attended Front- de-Boeuf were stripped 
of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins and trousers 
of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow, 
like those of butchers when about to exercise their function in 
the slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small pannier; 
10 and, when they entered the dungeon, they stopt at the door 
until Front-de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and double-locked 
it. Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up the 
apartment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, 
as if he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as some ani- 
15 mals are said to fascinate their prey. It seemed indeed as if 
the sullen and malignant eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some 
portion of that supposed power over his unfortunate prisoner. 
The Jew sate with his mouth a-gape, and his eyes fixed on the 
savage baron with such earnestness of terror, that his frame 
20 seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish in size 
while encountering the fierce Norman’s fixed and baleful gaze. 
The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising 
to make the obeisance which his terror dictated, but he could 
not even doff his cap, or utter any word of supplication, so 
25 strongly was he agitated by the conviction that tortures and 
death were impending over him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman appeared 
to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which ruffies up 
its plumage when about to pounce on its defenseless prey. He 
30 paused within three steps of the corner in which the unfortu- 
nate Jew had now, as it were, coiled himself up into the small- 
est possible space, and made a sign for one of the slaves to ap- 
proach. The black satellite came forward accordingly, and, 
producing from his basket a large pair of scales and several 
35 weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and again 
retired to the respectful distance, at which his companion had 
already taken his station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there 
impended over their souls some preconception of horror and of 


IVANHOE. 


205 


cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened the scene by thus 
addressing his ill-fated captive. 

“Most accursed dog of an accursed race,” he said, awaking 
with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes of his dungeon 
vault, “ seest thou these scales ? ” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

“In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said the 
relentless Baron, “ a thousand silver pounds, after the just 
measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

“ Holy Abraham ! ” returned the Jew, finding voice through 
the very extremity of his danger, “ heard man ever such a 
demand ? Who ever heard, even in a minstrel’s tale, of such 
a sum as a thousand pounds of silver ? What human sight 
was ever blessed with the vision of such a mass of treasure ? — 
Not within the walls of York, ransack my house and that of all 
my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of silver 
that thou speakest of.” 

“ I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ and if silver 
be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for 
each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving 
carcass from such punishment as thy heart has never even 
conceived.” 

“ Have mercy on me, noble knight! ” exclaimed Isaac; “ I 
am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to triumph 
over me — It is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

“ Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight; “ more shame to 
their folly who have suffered thee to grow gray in usury and 
knavery — Feeble thou mayst be, for when had a Jew either 
heart or hand — But rich it is well known thou art.” 

“ I swear to you, noble knight, ” said the Jew, “ by all which 
I believe, and by all which we believe in common — ” 

“ Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupting him, 
“ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast seen 
and well considered the fate that awaits thee. Think not I 
speak to thee only to excite thy terror, and practice on the base 
cowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I swear to thee 
by that which thou dost not believe, by the gospel which our 
church teaches, and by the keys which are given her to bind 
and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. This 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


206 


IVANHOE. 


dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times 
more distinguished than thou have died within these walls, and 
their fate hath never been known ! But for thee is reserved a 
long and lingering death, to which theirs were luxury.” 

5 He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and spoke 
to them apart, in their own language ; for he also had been in 
Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learnt his lesson of cruelty. 
The Saracens produced from their baskets a quantity of char- 
coal, a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the one struck 
10 a light with a flint and steel, the other disposed the charcoal in 
the large rusty grate which we have already mentioned, and 
exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow. 

“ Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ the range of iron 
bars above that glowing charcoal ? — on that warm couch thou 
15 shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed 
of down. One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneath 
thee, while the other shall anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, 
lest the roast should burn. — Now, choose betwixt such a scorch- 
ing bed and the payment of a thousand pounds of silver; for, 
20 by the head of my father, thou hast no other option.” 

“It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — “ it is im- 
possible that your purpose can be real ! The good God of nature 
never made a heart capable of exercising such cruelty I ” 

“ Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ it were a 
25 fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have seen a town 
sacked, in which thousands of my Christian countrymen per- 
ished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will blench from my pur- 
pose for the outcries or screams of one single wretched Jew ? — 
or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who have neither 
30 law, country, nor conscience, but their master’s will — who use 
the poison, or the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at his 
slightest wink — thinkest thou that they will have mercy, who 
do not even understand the language in which it is asked ? — 
Be wise, old man ; discharge thyself of a portion of thy super- 
35 fluous wealth ; repay to the hands of a Christian a part of what 
thou hast acquired by the usury thou hast practiced on those of 
his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell out once more thy 
shriveled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can restore thy 
scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched on these bars. 


IVANHOE. 


207 


Tell down thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou 
canst redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets of which few 
have returned to tell. I waste no more words with thee — 
choose between thy dross and thy flesh and blood, and as thou 
choosest, so shall it be.” 5 

“ So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our people 
assist me,” said Isaac- “I cannot make the choice, because I 
have not the means of satisfying your exorbitant demand ! ” 
“Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, “and 
let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 10 

The assistants, taking their directions more from the Baron’s 
eye and his hand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, 
laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from the 
ground, and, holding him between them, waited the hard- 
hearted Baron’s farther signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their 15 
countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope of discover- 
ing some symptoms of relenting ; but that of the Baron ex- 
hibited the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which 
had been the prelude to his cruelty ; and the savage eyes of 
the Saracens, rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquir- 20 
ing a yet more sinister expression by the whiteness of the cir- 
cle which surrounds the pupil, evinced rather the secret pleas- 
ure which they expected from the approaching scene, than 
any reluctance to be its directors or agents. The Jew then 
looked at the glowing furnace, over which he was presently 25 
to be stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor’s relent- 
ing, his resolution gave way. 

“I will pay,” he said, “the thousand pounds of silver — 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “ I will pay it with 
the help of my brethren ; for I must beg as a mendicant at the 30 
door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum. — 
When and where must it be delivered ? ” 

“ Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “ here it must be delivered 
— weighed it must be — weighed and told down on this very 
dungeon floor. — Thinkest thou I will part with thee until thy 35 
ransom is secure ? ” 

“ And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “ that I shall 
be at liberty after this ransom is paid ? ” 

“ The word of a Norman noble, thou pawnbroking slave,” 


208 


IVANHOE. 


answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “ the faith of a Norman nobleman, 
more pure than the gold and silver of thee and all thy tribe.” 

“I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly, “but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who will 
5 trust nothing to mine ? ” 

“Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the knight, 
sternly. “Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, 
and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would be thine to 
dictate the time of payment, and the pledge of security. This 
10 is my treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advantage, nor 
will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I grant thee 
liberty.” 

The Jew groaned deeply. — “ Grant me,” he said, “ at least 
with my own liberty, that of the companions with whom I 
15 travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they pitied my desola- 
tion, and because they tarried to aid me by the way, a share 
of my evil hath come upon them; moreover, they may con- 
tribute in some sort to my ransom.” 

“If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said Front-de- 
20 Boeuf, “ their ransom will depend upon other terms than thine. 
Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not 
with those of others.” 

“ I am, then,” said Isaac, “ only to be set at liberty, together 
with mine wounded friend ? ” 

25 “Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “to a 
son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, and leave those 
of others alone ? — Since thou hast made thy choice, it remains 
but that thou payest down thy ransom, and that at a short day.” 

“Yet hear me,” said the Jew — “for the sake of that very 
30 wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of thy ” — 
Here he stopped short, afraid of irritating the savage Norman. 
But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed, and himself filled up the 
blank at which the Jew had hesitated. “At the expense of 
my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it out — I tell 
35 thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser, 
even when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, 
Isaac, when thou didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitz- 
dotterel, for calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy 
exactions had devoured his patrimony.” 


IVANHOE. 


209 


“I swear by the Talmud,” said the Jew, “that your valor 
has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew his poniard 
upon me in mine own chamber, because I craved him for 
mine own silver. The term of payment was due at the Pass- 
over.” 

“ I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ the question 
is, when shall I have mine own ? — when shall I have the shek- 
els, Isaac ? ” 

“ Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,” answered 
Isaac, “ with your safe conduct, noble knight, and so soon as 
man and horse can return, the treasure ” — Here he groaned 
deeply, but added, after the pause of a few seconds,— “ The 
treasure shall be told down on this very floor.” 

“Thy daughter!” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised, — 
“ By heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed 
that yonder black-browed girl had been thy concubine, and I 
gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the days of old, 
who set us in these matters a wholesome example.” 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication 
made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens 
so much that they let go their hold of the Jew. He availed 
himself of his enlargement to throw himself on the pavement, 
and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf. 

“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “ Sir Knight — take 
ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt, 
— nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, 
but spare my daughter, deliver her in safety and honor ! — As 
thou art born of woman spare the honor of a helpless maiden 
— She is the image of my deceased Rachel, she is the last of 
six pledges of her love — Will you deprive a widowed husband 
of his sole remaining comfort ? — Will you reduce a father to 
wish that his only living child were laid beside her dead mother, 
in the tomb of our fathers ? ” 

“ I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relentingly, “ that I 
had known of this before. I thought your race had loved 
nothing save their money-bags.” . 

“ Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said Isaac, 
eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy; “the 
; 14 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


2i0 


IVANHOE. 


hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its young — the despised 
and persecuted race of Abraham love their children ! ” 

“ Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; I will believe it in future., 
Isaac, for thy very sake — but it aids us not now, I cannot help 
5 what has happened, or what is to follow; my word is passed to 
my comrade in arms, nor would I break it for ten Jews and 
Jewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst thou think evil is to 
come to the girl, even if she became Bois-Guilbert’s booty ? ” 

“ There will, there must I ” exclaimed Isaac, wringing his 
10 hands in agony; “when did Templars breathe aught but 
cruelty to men, and dishonor to women ! ” 

“Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Boeuf, with sparkling 
eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext of working 
himself into a passion, “ blaspheme not the Holy Order of the 
15 Temple of Zion, but take thought instead to pay me the ran- 
som thou hast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish throat ! ” 

“ Bobber and villain ! ” said the Jew, retorting the insults of 
his oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he now 
found it impossible to bridle, ‘ ‘ I will pay thee nothing — not 
20 one silver penny will I pay thee, unless my daughter is de- 
livered to me in safety and honor ! ” 

“Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?” said the Norman, 
sternly — “has thy flesh and blood a charm against heated 
iron and scalding oil ? ” 

25 “I care not ! ” said the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal 
affection ; “do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and blood, 
dearer to me a thousand times than those limbs which thy 
cruelty threatens. No silver will I give thee, unless I were to 
pour it molten down thy avaricious throat — no, not a silver 
30 penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to save thee from the 
deep damnation thy whole life has merited ! Take my life if 
thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to 
disappoint the Christian.” 

“We shall see that,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “for by the 
35 blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed tribe, 
thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel ! — Strip him, 
slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.” 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens 
bad already torn from him his upper garment, and were pro- 


ivanhoe. 


211 


ceeding totally to disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, 
twice winded without the castle, penetrated even to the re- 
cesses of the dungeon, and immediately after loud voices were 
heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to 
be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage Baron 
gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac’s garments, and, quit- 
ting the dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank 
God for his own deliverance, or to lament over his daughter’s 
captivity and probable fate, as his personal or parental feelings 
might prove strongest. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end, 

And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Tivo Gentlemen of Verona. 

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been intro- 
duced was fitted up with some rude attempts at ornament and 
magnificence, and her being placed there might be considered 
as a peculiar mark of respect not offered to the other pris- 
oners. But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom it had been 
originally furnished, was long dead, and decay and neglect 
had impaired the few ornaments with which her taste had 
adorned it. The tapestry hung down from the walls in many 
places, and in others was tarnished and faded under the effects 
of the sun, or tattered and decayed by age. Desolate, how- 
ever, as it was, this was the apartment of the castle which had 
been judged most fitting for the accommodation of the Saxon 
heiress ; and here she was left to meditate upon her fate, un- 
til the actors in this nefarious drama had arranged the several 
parts which each of them was to perform. This had been 
settled in a council held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the 
Templar, in which, after a long and warm debate concerning 
the several advantages which each insisted upon deriving from 
his peculiar share in this audacious enterprise, they had at 
length determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


212 


IVANHOE. 


for whose advantage the expedition had been first planned, 
appeared to prosecute his views upon tlie hand and posses- 
sions of the Lady Eowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding coun- 
5 cil with his confederates, for De Bracy had found leisure to 
decorate his person with all the foppery of the times. His 
green cassock and vizard were now fiung aside. His long 
luxuriant hair was trained to fiow in quaint tresses down his 
richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, his doub- 
10 let reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle which se- 
cured it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, 
was embroidered and embossed with gold work. We have 
already noticed the extravagant fashion of the shoes at this 
period, and the points of Maurice De Bracy ’s might have chal- 
15 lenged the prize of extravagance with the gayest, being turned 
up and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress of 
a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, that 
effect was aided by the handsome person and good demeanor 
of the wearer, whose manners partook alike of the grace of a 
20 courtier, and the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished 
with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael trampling 
down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently motioned the 
lady to a seat ; and, as she still retained her standing posture, 
25 the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned to conduct 
her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the prof- 
fered compliment, and replied, “If I be in the presence 
of my jailer. Sir Knight — nor will circumstances allow me to 
think otherwise — it best becomes his prisoner to remain stand 
30 ing till she learns her doom.” 

“Alas! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy, “you are in the 
presence of your captive, not your jailer ; and it is from your 
fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which you 
fondly expect from him.” 

35 “I know ymi not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself up 
with all the pride of offended rank and beauty; “ I know you 
not— and the insolent familiarity with which you apply to me 
the jargon of a troubadour forms nc apology for the violence 
of a robber.” 


IVANHOE. 


213 


“ To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his former 
tone — “ to thine own charms be ascribed whate’er I have done 
which passed the respect due to her, whom I have chosen queen 
of my heart, and loadstar of my eyes.” 

“ I repeat to you. Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that 5 
no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself 
upon the presence of an unprotected lady.” 

“That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “ is indeed my 
misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy ’s name has not been 
always unspoken, when minstrels or heralds have praised deeds 10 
of chivalry, whether in the lists or in the battle-field.” 

“To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise. Sir 
Knight,” replied Eowena, “ more suiting for their mouths than 
for thine own; and tell me which of them shall record in song, 
or in book of tourney, the memorable conquest of this night, a 19 
conquest obtained over an old man, followed by a few timid 
hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden, transported 
against her will to the castle of a robber ? ” 

“ You are unjust. Lady Eowena,” said the knight, biting his 
lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more natural to 20 
him than that of affected gallantry, which he had at first 
adopted ; “ yourself free from passion, you can allow no excuse 
for the frenzy of another, although caused by your own beauty.” 

‘ ‘ I pray you. Sir Knight, ” said Eowena, “to cease a language 
so commonly used by strolling minstrels, that it becomes not 25 
the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, you constrain me to 
sit down, since you enter upon such commonplace terms, of 
which each vile crowder hath a stock that might last from 
hence to Christmas.” 

“ Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his gal- 3^ 
lant style procured him nothing but contempt — “ proud damsel, 
thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know then, that I have 
supported my pretensions to your hand in the way that best 
suited thy character. It is meeter for thy humor to be wooed 
with bow and bill, than in set terms, and in courtly language.” 35 

“ Courtesy of tongue,” said Eowena, “ when it is used to veil 
churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around the breast 
of a base clown. I wonder not that the restraint appears to 
gall you — more it were for your honor to have retained the 


214 


IVANHOE. 


dress and language of an outlaw, than to veil the deeds of one 
under an affectation of gentle language and demeanor.” 

“You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman; “and in the 
bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell thee, thou 
5 shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave it as Maurice 
de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be baffied in my enterprises, 
nor needs a Norman noble scrupulously to vindicate his con- 
duct to the Saxon maiden whom he distinguishes by the offer 
of his hand. Thou art proud, Eowena, and thou art the fitter 
10 to be my wife. By what other means couldst thou be raised to 
high honor and to princely place, saving by my alliance? How 
else would st thou escape from the mean precincts of a country 
grange, where Saxons herd with the swine which form their 
wealth, to take thy seat, honored as thou shouldst be, and 
15 shalt be, amid all in England that is distinguished by beauty, 
or dignified by power ? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Eowena, “ the grange which you con- 
temn hath been my shelter from infancy; and, trust me, when 
I leave it — should that day ever arrive — it shall be with one 
20 who has not learnt to despise the dwelling and manners in 
which I have been brought up.” 

“ I guess your meaning, lady,” said DeBracy, “though you 
may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. But dream 
not, that Eichard Ooeur-de-Lion will ever resume his throne, 
25 far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will ever lead thee 
to his footstool, to be there welcomed as the bride of a favorite. 
Another suitor might feel jealousy while he touched this string ; 
but my firm purpose cannot be changed by a passion so childish 
and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in my power, 
30 and that it rests but with me to betray the secret of his being 
within the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy will be 
more fatal than mine.” 

“Wilfred here ? ” said Eowena, in disdain; “ that is as true 
as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 

35 De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. “ Wert thou 
really ignorant of this ?” said he; “ didst thou not know that 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe traveled in the litter of the Jew? — a meet 
conveyance for the crusader, whose doughty arm was to re- 
conquer the Holy Sepulcher! ” And he laughed scornfully. 


IVANHOE. 


215 


“ And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling herself to a 
cone of indifference, though trembling with an agony of appre 
hension which she could not suppress, ‘ ‘ in what is he the rival 
of Front-de-Boeuf ? or what has he to fear beyond a short im- 
prisonment, and an honorable ransom, according to the use of 6 
chivalry? ” 

“ Rowena,” said De Bracy, “art thou, too, deceived by the 
common error of thy sex, who think there can be no rivalry but 
that respecting their own charms? Knowest thou not there is 
a jealousy of ambition and of wealth, as well as of love; and 10 
that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push from his road him 
who opposes his claim to the fair barony of Ivanhoe, as readily, 
eagerly, and unscrupulously, as if he were preferred to him by 
some blue-eyed damsel ? But smile on my suit, lady, and the 
wounded champion shall have nothing to fear from Front-de- 15 
Boeuf , whom else thou mayst mourn for, as in the hands of one 
who has never shown compassion.” 

“ Save him, for the love of Heaven ! ” said Rowena, her firm- 
ness giving way under terror for her lover’s impending fate. 

“I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; “ for, 20 
when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is it 
shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her kinsman — the 
son of her guardian — the companion of her youth? But it is 
thy love must buy his protection. I am not romantic fool 
enough to further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one who is 25 
likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my wishes. 
Use thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is safe, — 
refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the 
nearer to freedom.” 

“ Thy language,” answered Rowena, “ hath in its indifferent 30 
bluntness something which cannot be reconciled with the hor- 
rors it seems to express. I believe not that thy purpose is so 
wicked, or thy power so great.” 

“ Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De Bracy, 
“until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded in 35 
this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt Front- 
de-Boeuf and that which Front-de-Boeuf loves better than 
either ambition or beauty. What will it cost beyond the blow 
of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence his opposition 


216 


IVANHOE. 


forever? Nay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to justify a deed so 
open, let the leech but give his patient a wrong draught — let the 
chamberlain, or the nurse who tends him, but pluck the pillow 
from his head, and Wilfred, in his present condition, is sped 
5 without the effusion of blood. Cedric also — ” 

“And Cedric also,” said Eowena, repeating his words; 
“my noble — my generous guardian! I deserved the evil I 
have encountered, for forgetting his fate even in that of his 
son! ” 

10 “ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” said De 

Bracy; “ and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying scene 
with undismayed courage, but it was because she had not con- 
sidered the danger as serious and imminent. Her disposition 
15 was naturally that which physiognomists consider as proper to 
fair complexions, mild, timid, and gentle; but it had been tem- 
pered, and, as it were, hardened, by the circumstances of her 
education. Accustomed to see the will of all, even of Cedric 
himself, (sufficiently arbitrary with others,) give way before 
20 her wishes, she had acquired that sort of courage and self-confi- 
dence which arises from the habitual and constant deference of 
the circle in which we move. She could scarce conceive the 
possibility of her will being opposed, far less that of its being 
treated with total disregard. 

25 Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, a 
fictitious character, induced over that which was natural to her, 
and it deserted her when her eyes were opened to the extent of 
her own danger, as well as that of her lover and her guardian ; 
and when she found her will, the slightest expression of which 
30 was wont to command respect and attention, now placed in 
opposition to that of a man of a strong, fierce, and determined 
mind, who possessed the advantage over her, and was resolved 
to use it, she quailed before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid which 
35 was nowliere to be found, and after a few broken interjections, 
she raised her hands to heaven, and burst into a passion of un- 
controlled vexation and sorrow. It was impossible to see so 
beautiful a creature in such extremity without feeling for her, 
and De Bracy was not unmoved, though he was yet more em- 


IVANHOE. 


217 


barrassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too far to 
recede; and yet, in Rowena’s present condition, she could not 
be acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the 
apartment to and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden 
to compose herself, now hesitating concerning his own line of 5 
conduct. 

“If,” thought he, “ I should be moved by the tears and sorrow 
of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss of 
those fair hopes for which I have encountered so much risk, 
and the ridicule of Prince John and his jovial comrades ? And 1C 
yet,” he said to himself, “ I feel myself ill framed for the part 
which I am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it is 
disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they are drowned 
in tears. I would she had retained her original haughtiness 
of disposition, or that I had a larger share of Front-de-Boeuf’s 15 
thrice- tempered hardness of heart! ” 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortu- 
nate Rowena be comforted, and assure her, that as yet she 
had no reason for the excess of despair to which she was now 
giving way. But in this task of consolation De Bracy was inter- 20 
rupted by the horn, “ hoarse- winded blowing far and keen,” 
which had at the same time alarmed the other inmates of the 
castle, and interrupted their several plans of avarice and of 
license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the 
interruption ; for his conference with the Lady Rowena had 25 
arrived at a point where he found it equally diflScult to prose- 
cute or to resign his enterprise. 

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some better 
proof than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate the melan- 
choly representation of manners which has been j ust laid before 80 
the reader. It is grievous to think that those valiant barons, 
to whose stand against the crown the liberties of England were 
indebted for their existence, should themselves have been such 
dreadful oppressors, and capable of excesses contrary not only 
to the laws of England, but to those of natilre and humanity. 35 
But, alas ! we have only to extract from the industrious Henry 
one of those numerous passages which he has collected from 
contemporaiy historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly 
reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period. 


218 


ivanhoe. 


The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle 
of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the 
great barons and lords of castles, who were all Normans, 
affords a strong proof of the excesses of which they were 
5 capable when their passions were inflamed. ‘ ‘ They grievously 
oppressed the poor people by building castles ; and when they 
were built, they filled them with wicked men, or rather devils, 
who seized both men and women who they imagined had any 
money, threw them into prison, and put them to more cruel 
10 tortures than the martyrs ever endured. They suffocated 
some in mud, and suspended others by the feet, or the head, 
or the thumbs, kindling fires below them'. They squeezed the 
heads of some with knotted cords till they pierced their brains, 
while they threw others into dungeons swarming with serpents, 
15 snakes, and toads.” But it would be cruel to put the reader 
to the pain of perusing the remainder of this description. 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, and 
perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may mention 
that the Empress Matilda, though a daughter of the King of 
20 Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of England and Empress 
of Germany, the daughter, the wife, and the mother of 
monarchs, was obliged, during her early residence for edu- 
cation in England, to assume the veil of a nun, as the only 
means of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Norman nobles. 
25 This excuse she stated before a great council of the clergy of 
England, as the sole reason for her having taken the religious 
habit. The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, 
and the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was 
founded, giving thus an indubitable and most remarkable testi- 
30 mony to the existence of that disgraceful license by which that 
age was stained. It was a matter of public knowledge, they 
said, that after the conquest of King William, his Norman 
followers, elated by so great a victory, acknowledged no law 
but their own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the 
35 conquered Saxons of their lands and their goods, but invaded 
the honor of their wives and of their daughters with the most 
unbridled license ; and hence it was then common for matrons 
and maidens of noble families to assume the veil, and take 
shelter in convents, not as called thither by the vocation of 


IVANHOE. 2iy 

God, but solely to preserve their honor from the unbridled 
wickedness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by the 
public declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by Ead- 
mer; and we need add nothing more to vindicate the probabil- O 
ity of the scenes which we have detailed, and are about to de- 
tail, upon the more apocryphal authority of the Wardour MS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 
ril woo her as the lion woos his bride. 

Douglas. 

While the scenes we have described were passing in other 
parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her fate in a 
distant and sequestered turret. Hither she had been led by 10 
two of her disguised ravishers, and on being thrust into the 
little cell, she found herself in the presence of an old sibyl, who 
kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to beat time 
to the revolving dance which her spindle was performing upon ^ 
the floor. The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and 15 
scowled at the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which 
old age and ugliness, when united with evil conditions, are apt 
to look ilpon youth and beauty. 

“Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,” said one of 
the men ; * ‘ our noble master commands it — Thou must e’en 20 
leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

“ Ay,” grumbled the hag, “ even thus is service requited. I 
have known when my bare word would have cast the best 
man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and out of service ; and 
now must I up and away at the command of every groom such 25 
as thou.” 

“ Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “stand not to 
reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ bests must be listened 
to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, old dame, but 
thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the very emblem of 30 
an old war-horse turned out on the barren heath — thou hast 
had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best 
of them — Come, amble ofl with thee.” 


220 


IVANHOE. 


“Ill omens dog ye both!” said the old woman; “and a 
kennel be your burying-place 1 May the evil demon Zernebock 
tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own cell ere I have spun 
out the hemp on my distaff ! ” 

5 “Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend,” said the 
man, and retired, leaving Rebecca in company with the old 
woman, upon whose presence she had been thus unwillingly 
forced. 

“ What devil's deed have they now in the wind ? ” said the 
10 old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting a 
sidelong and malignant glance at Rebecca ; ‘ ‘ but it is easy to 
guess — Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the 
priest stains it with his black unguent — Ay, it is easy to guess 
why they send her to this lone turret, whence a shriek could 
15 no more be heard than at the depth of five hundred fathoms 
beneath the earth. — Thou wilt have owls for thy neighbour, 
fair one ; and their screams will be heard as far, and as much 
regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too,” she said, marking 
the dress and turban of Rebecca— “ What country art thou of ? 
20 — a Saracen ? or an Egyptian ? — Why dost not answer ? — thou 
canst weep, canst thou not speak ? ” 

“ Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca. 

“ Thou needs t say no more,” replied Urfried; “ men know a 
fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

25 “ For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “ tell me what I am 

to expect as the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged 
me hither! Is it my life they seek, to atone for my religion ? 
I will lay it down cheerfully.” 

“ Thy life, minion ! ” answered the sibyl; “ what would tak 
30 ing thy life pleasure them ? — Trust me, thy life is in no peril. 
Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought good enough 
for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a Jewess, like thee, re- 
pine because she hath no better ? Look at me — I was as young 
and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Bceuf, father of this 
35 Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My father 
and his seven sons defended their inheritance from story to 
stoi-y, from chamber to chamber — There was not a room, not 
a step of the stair, that was not slippery with their blood. 
They died — they died every man ; and ere their bodies were 


IVANHOE. 221 

cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the prey and 
the scorn of the conqueror ! ” 

‘ ‘ Is there no help ? — Are there no means of escape ? ” said 
Rebecca — “Richly, richly would I requite thine aid.” 

“Think not of it,” said the hag; “from hence there is no 5 
escape but through the gates of death; and it is late, late,” 
she added, shaking her gray head, “ ere these open to us — Yet 
it is comfort to think that we leave behind us on earth those 
who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess ! 

— Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same; for thou hast to 1 C 
do with them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee 
well, I say. My thread is spun out — thy task is yet to begin.” 

“Stay ! stay ! for Heaven’s sake !” said Rebecca ; “stay, 
though it be to curse and to revile me — thy presence is yet 
some protection.” 15 

“ The presence of the mother of God were no protection,” 
answered the old woman. “There she stands,” pointing to a 
rude image of the Virgin Mary, “ see if she can avert the fate 
that awaits thee.” 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a 20 
sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem even more hid- 
eous than their habitual frown. She locked the door behind 
her, and Rebecca might hear her curse every s tep for its steep- 
ness, as slowly and with difficulty she descended the turret- 
stair. 25 

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than 
that of Rowena; for what probability was there that either 
softness or ceremony would be used towards one of her op- 
pressed race, whatever shadow of these might be preserved 
towards a Saxon heiress ? Yet had the Jewess this advantage, 30 
that she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by nat- 
ural strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which she 
was exposed. Of a strong and observing character, even from 
her earliest years, the pomp and wealth which her father dis- 
played within his walls, or which she witnessed in the houses 35 
of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to blind her to 
the precarious circumstances under which they were enjoyed. 
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually 
beheld, amid that gorgeous display, the sword which was sus- 


222 


IVANHOE. 


pended over the heads of her people by a single hair. These 
reflections had tamed and brought down to a pitch of sounder 
judgment a temper, which, under other circumstances, might 
have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate. 

5 From her father’s examples and injunctions, Kebecca had 
learnt to bear herself courteously towards all who approached 
her. She could not indeed imitate his excess of subservience, 
because she was a stranger to the meanness of mind, and to 
the constant state of timid apprehension, by which it was die- 
10 tated; but she bore herself with a proud humility, as if sub- 
mitting to the evil circumstances in which she was placed as 
the daughter of a despised race, while she felt in her mind the 
consciousness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from 
her merit, than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice 
15 permitted her to aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had ac- 
quired the firmness necessary for acting under them. Her 
present situation required all her presence of mind, and she 
summoned it up accordingly. 

20 Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it afforded 
few hopes either of escape or protection. It contained neither 
secret passage nor trap-door, and unless where the door by 
which she had entered joined the main building, seemed to bo 
circumscribed by the round exterior wall of the turret. The 
25 door had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened 
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave 
Eebecca, at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon 
found it had no communication with any other part of the 
battlements, being an isolated bartizan, or balcony, secured, as 
CO usual, by a parapet, with embrasures, at which a few archers 
might be stationed for defending the turret, and flanking with 
their shot the wall of the castle on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in 
that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous 
35 characters. Eebecca, however erroneously taught to interpret 
the promises of Scripture to the chosen people of Heaven, did 
not err in supposing the present to be their hour of trial, or in 
trusting that the children of Zion would be one day called in 
with the fullness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around 


IVANHOE. 


223 


her showed that their present state was that of punishment 
and probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer 
without sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the vic- 
tim of misfortune, Rebecca had early reflected upon her own 
state, and schooled her mind to meet the dangers which she 
had probably to encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed color, when a 
step was heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-chamber 
slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as one of those banditti 
to whom they owed their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut 
the door behind him ; his cap, pulled down upon his brows, 
concealed the upper part of his face, and he held his mantle in 
such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this guise, as if pre- 
pared for the execution of some deed, at the thought of which 
he was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner ; 
yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to ex- 
press what purpose had brought him thither, so that Rebecca, 
making an effort upon herself, had time to anticipate his ex- 
planation. She had already unclasped two costly bracelets and 
a collar, which she hastened to proffer to the supposed outlaw, 
concluding naturally that to gratify his avarice was to bespeak 
his favor. 

“ Take these,” she said, “ good friend, and for God’s sake be 
merciful to me and my aged father ! These ornaments are of 
value, yet are they trifling to what he would bestow to obtain 
our dismissal from this castle, free and uninjured.” 

“ Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw, “ these pearls 
are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth ; the dia- 
monds are brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and 
ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I have made a vow 
to prefer beauty to wealth.” 

Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Rebecca; “ take ran- 
som, and have mercy ! — Gold will purchase you pleasure, — to 
misuse us, could only bring thee remorse. My father will will- 
ingly satiate thy utmost wishes ; and if thou wilt act wisely, 
thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy restoration to civil 
society — mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and be placed 
beyond the necessity of committing more.” 

“ It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, finding it 


10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


224 


IVANHOE. 


difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation which 
Eebecca had opened in that language; “ but know, bright lily 
of the vale of Baca! that thy father is already in the hands of 
a powerful alchemist, who knows how to convert into gold and 
5 silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The venerable 
Isaac is subjected to an alembic, which will distill from him all 
he holds dear, without any assistance from my requests, or thy 
entreaty. Thy ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and 
in no other coin will I accept it.” 

10 “ Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same language 

in which he addressed her ; “no outlaw had refused such offers. 
No outlaw in this land uses the dialect in which thou hast 
spoken. Thou^rt no outlaw, but a Norman — a Norman, noble 
perhaps in birth — O, be so in thy actions, and cast off this 
15 fearful mask of outrage and violence! ” 

“ And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, “ art no true 
daughter of Israel, but in all, save youth and beauty, a very 
witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. 
20 And I am one who will be more prompt to hang thy neck and 
arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become them, 
than to deprive thee of these ornaments.” 

“ What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca, “if not my 
wealth ? — We can have naught in common between us — you 
25 are a Christian — I am a Jewess. — Our union were contrary to 
the laws, alike of the church and the synagogue.” 

“ It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing; “wed 
with a Jewess ? Despardieux ! Not if she were the Queen 
of Sheba! And know, besides, sweet daughter of Zion, that 
30 were the most Christian king to offer me his most Christian 
daughter, with Languedoc for a dowry, I could not wed her. 
It is against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than par 
amours^ as I will love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross 
of my Holy Order.” 

35 “ Barest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “on an occasion 

like the present ? ” 

“ And if I do so,” said the Templar, “it concerns not thee, 
who art no believer in the blessed sign of our salvation.” 

“ I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca; “ and may 


IVANHOE. 


225 


God forgive my belief if erroneous ! But you, Sir Knight, 
what is yours, when you appeal without scruple to that which 
you deem most holy, even while you are about to transgress 
the most solemn of your vows as a knight, and as a man of 
religion ? ” \ 

“ It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of Sirach!” 
answered the Templar; “but, gentle Ecclesiastica, thy narrow 
Jewish prejudices make thee blind to our high privileges. 
Marriago were an enduring crime on the part of a Templar ; 
but what lesser folly I may practice, I shall speedily be 
absolved from at the next Preceptory of our Order. Not the 
wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose examples you must 
needs allow are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we 
poor soldiers of the Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its 
defense. The protectors of Solomon’s Temple may claim 
license by the example of Solomon.” 

“ If thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess, “ and the 
lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license and profli- 
gacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts poison from 
the most healthful and necessary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. — 
“ Hearken,” he said, “ Kebecca; I have hitherto spoken mildly 
to thee, but now my language shall be that of a conqueror. 
Thou art the captive of my bow and spear — subject to my will 
by the laws of all nations ; nor will I abate an inch of my 
right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou refusest 
to entreaty or necessity.” 

“ Stand back,” said Rebecca — “stand back, and hear me ere 
thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou 
mayst indeed overpower, for God made women weak, and 
trusted their defense to man’s generosity. But I will proclaim 
thy villainy, Templar, from one end of Europe to the other. 
I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what their com- 
passion might refuse me. Each Preceptory — each Chapter of 
thy Order, shall learn, that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned 
with a Jewess. Those who tremble not at thy crime, will hold 
thee accursed for having so far dishonored the cross thou 
wearest, as to follow a daughter of my people.” 

“ Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Templar, well 

15 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


226 


IVANHOE. 


aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his 
Order condemned in the most positive manner, and under high 
penalties, such intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that, in 
some instances, even degradation had followed upon it — 
5 “thou art sharp-witted,” he said; “but loud must be thy 
voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this 
castle; within these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, 
and screams for help, die alike silent away. One thing only 
^ can save thee, Eebecca. Submit to thy fate — embrace our 
10 religion, and thou shalt go forth in such state, that many a 
Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in beauty to the ‘ 
favorite of the best lance among the defenders of the Temple.” 

“ Submit to my fate! ” said Rebecca— “ and, sacred Heaven! 
to what fate ? — embrace thy religion! and what religion can 
15 it be that harbors such a villain ? — thou the best lance of the 
Templars ! — Craven knight ! — forsworn priest ! I spit at thee, 
and I defy thee. — The God of Abraham’s promise hath opened 
an escape to his daughter — even from this abyss of infamy ! ” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led 
20 to the bartizan, and in an instant after, stood on the very 
verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen between 
her and the tremendous depth below. Unprepared for such a 
desperate effort, for she had hitherto stood perfectly motion- 
less, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to intercept nor to stop 
25 her. As he offered to advance, she exclaimed, “Remain 
where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance ! — 
one foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my 
body shall be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon 
the stones of that courtyard, ere it become the victim of thy 
30 brutality ! ” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them 
towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she 
made the final plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolu- 
tion which had never yielded to pity or distress, gave way to 
35 his admiration of her fortitude. “Come down,” he said, 
“ rash girl! — I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will offer 
thee no offense.” 

“ I will not trust thee. Templar,” said Rebecca; “ thou hast 
taught me better how to estimate the virtues of thine Order. 


IVANHOE. 


227 


The next Preceptory would grant thee absolution for an oath, 
the keeping of which concerned naught but the honor or the 
dishonor of a miserable Jewish maiden.” 

“You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar, fervently; 
“ I swear to you by the name Avhich I bear — by the cross on 
my bosom — by the sword on my side — by the ancient crest of 
my fathers do I swear, I will do thee no injury whatsoever! 
If not for thyself, yet for thy father’s sake forbear! I will 
be his friend, and in this castle he will need a powerful one.” 

“Alas!” said Rebecca, “I know it but too well — dare I 
trust thee ? ” 

“May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonored,” 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ if thou shalt have reason to 
complain of me ! Many a law, many a commandment have I 
broken, but my word never.” 

“ I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, “ thus far; ” and she 
descended from the verge of the battlement, but remained 
standing close by one of the embrasures, or machicolles, as they 
were then called. — “ Here,” she said, “ I take my stand. Re- 
main where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt to diminish by 
one step the distance now between us, thou shalt see that the 
Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with God, than her 
honor to the Templar! ” 

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which 
corresponded so well with the expressive beauty of her counte- 
nance, gave to her looks, air, and manner, a dignity that 
seemed more than mortal. Her glance quailed not, her cheek 
blanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant and so horrible ; 
on the contrary, the thought that she had her fate at her com- 
mand, and could escape at will from infamy to death, gave a 
yet deeper color of carnation to her complexion, and a yet 
more brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself 
and high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so 
animated and so commanding. 

“ Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said. 

“ Peace, if thou wilt,” ansvered Rebecca — “peace — but 
with this space between.” 

“ Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ I fear thee not,” replied she. “ thanks to him that reared 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


228 


IVANHOE. 


this dizzy tower so high, that naught could fall from it and 
live — thanks to him, and to the God of Israel! — I fear thee 
not.” 

“Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; “by earth, 
g sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice ! I am not naturally that 
which you have seen me, hard, selfish, and relentless. It was 
woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I 
have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear me, Ee- 
becca. — Never did knight take lance in his hand with a heart 
more devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert. She, the daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all 
his domains but a ruinous tower, and an unproductive vine- 
yard, and some few leagues of the barren Landes of Bourdeaux, 
her name was known wherever deeds of arms were done, 
known wider than that of many a lady’s that had a county for 
a dowry. — Yes,” he continued, pacing up and down the little 
platform, with an animation in which he seemed to lose all 
consciousness of Eebecca’s presence — “Yes, my deeds, my 
danger, myoblood, made the name of Adelaide de Montemare 
known from the court of Castile to that of Byzantium. And 
how was I requited ? — When I returned with my dear-bought 
honors, purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a 
Gascon squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits 
of his own paltry domain ! Truly did I love her, and bitterly 
did I revenge me of her broken faith! But my vengeance has 
recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated myself 
from life and its ties — My manhood must know no domestic 
home — must be soothed by no affectionate Avife — My age must 
know no kindly hearth — My grave must be solitary, and no 
offspring must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois- 
Guilbert. At the feet of my Superior I have laid down the 
right of self-action — the privilege of independence. The Temp- 
lar, a serf in all but the name, can possess neither lands nor 
goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the will and 
pleasure of another.” 

“ Alas! ” said Eebecca, “ what advantages could compensate 
for such an absolute sacrifice ? ” 

“ The power of vengeance, Eebecca,” replied the Templar, 
“and the prospects of ambition.” 


IVANHOE. 


229 


“ An evil recompense,” said Bebecca, “ for the surrender of 
the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

“ Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar; “ revenge is 
a feast for the gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests 
tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold it an enjoyment 
too precious for the possession of mere mortals. — And ambi- 
tion ? it is a temptation which could disturb even the bliss of 
heaven itself . ” — He paused a moment, and then added, “Re- 
becca ! she who could prefer death to dishonor, must have a 
proud and a powerful soul. Mine thou must be ! — Nay, start 
not,” he added, “ it must be with thine own consent, and on 
thine own terms. Thou must consent to share with me hopes 
more extended than can be viewed from the throne of a mon- 
arch! — Hear me ere you answer, and judge ere you refuse. — 
The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his 
power of free agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of 
a mighty body, before which thrones already tremble, — even 
as the single drop of rain which mixes with the sea becomes 
an individual part of that resistless ocean, w^hich undermines 
rocks and engulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling flood is 
that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean 
member, but already one of the Chief Commanders, and may 
well aspire one day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The 
poor soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon 
the necks of kings — a hemp-sandal’d monk can do that. Our 
mailed step shall ascend their throne — our gauntlet shall 
wrench the scepter from their gripe. Not the reign of your 
vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed 
tribes as my ambition may aim at. I have sought but a kin- 
dred spirit to share it, and I have found such in thee.” 

‘ ‘ Sayest thou this to one of my people ? ” answered Rebecca. 
“ Bethink thee — ” 

“ Answer me not,” said the Templar, “ by urging the differ- 
ence of our creeds ; within our secret conclaves we hold these 
nursery tales in derision. Think not we long remained blind 
to the idiotical folly of our founders, who forswore every de- 
light of life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger, by 
thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of savages, while 
they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable only in 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


230 


lYANHOE. 


the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and 
wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our 
sacrifices. Our immense possessions in every kingdom of 
Europe, our high military fame, which brings within our circle 
5 the flower of chivalry from every Christian clime — these are 
dedicated to ends of which our pious founders little dreamed, 
and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits as 
embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose super- 
stition makes them our passive tools. But I will not further 
10 withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That bugle-sound an- 
nounces something which may require my presence. Think on 
what I have said. — Farewell ! — I do not say forgive me the 
violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the display 
of thy character. Gold can be only known by the application 
15 of the touchstone. I will soon return, and hold further con- 
ference with thee.” 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, 
leaving Eebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the 
death to which she had been so lately exposed, than at the 
20 furious ambition of the bold bad manin whose power she found 
herself so unhappily placed. When she entered the turret- 
chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to the God of 
Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to 
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another 
25 name glided into her petition — it was that of the wounded 
Christian, whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty 
men, his avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as 
if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer, she mingled 
in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate hers 
30 could have no alliance — aNazarene, and an enemy to her faith. 
But the petition was already breathed, nor could all the nar- 
row prejudices of her sect induce Eebecca to wish it recalled. 


IVANHOE. 


2^1 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever 
I saw in my life. 


She Stoops to Conquer. 


When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he found 
De Bracy already there. “Your love-suit,” said De Bracy, 

“ hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by this obstreper- 
ous summons. But you have come later and more reluctantly, 
and therefore I presume your interview has proved more agree- 6 
able than mine.” 

‘ ‘ Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the Saxon 
heiress ? ” said the Templar. 

“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De Bracy, 

“ the Lady Rowena must have heard that I cannot endure the 10 
sight of women’s tears.” 

“ Away ! ” said the Templar; “ thou a leader of a Free Com- 
pany, and regard a woman’s tears ! A few drops sprinkled on 
the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.” 

“ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” replied De 15 
Bracy ; ‘ ‘ but this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish a 
beacon-light^ Never was such wringing of hands and such 
overflowing of eyes, since the days of St. Niobe, of whom 
Prior Aymer told us. A water-fiend hath possessed the fair 
Saxon.” 20 

“ A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the Jewess,” 
replied the Templar; “for, I think no single one, not even 
Apollyon himself, could have inspired such indomitable pride 
and resolution. — But where is Front-de-Boeuf ? That horn is 
sounded more and more clamorously.” 25 

“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied De 
Bracy, coolly ; ‘ ‘ probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the 
blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know, by experience. Sir 
Brian, that a Jew parting with his treasures on such terms as 
our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer, will raise a clamor 30 
loud enough to be heard over twenty horns and trumpets to 
boot. But we will make the vassals call him.” 


232 


IVANHOE. 


They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had 
been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with 
which the reader is acquainted, and had only tarried to give 
some necessary directions. 

5 “ Let us see the cause of this cursed clamor,” said Front-de- 

Boeuf. — “ Here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had 
had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting 
the position of the paper, and then handed it to De Bracy. 

10 “It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De Bracy, 
who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance which char- 
acterized the chivalry of the period. ‘ ‘ Our chaplain attempted 
to teach me to write,” he said, “ but all my letters were formed 
like spear-heads or sword-blades, and so the old shaveling gave 
15 up the task.” 

“Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of the 
priestly character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten 
our valor.” 

“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” 
20 said De Bracy; “ what says the scroll ? ” 

“ It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Templar; 
“but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it 
is the most extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the 
drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

25 “Jest ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “I would gladly know who 
dares jest with me in such a matter ! — Read it. Sir Brian.” 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows : — 

“ I, Wamba, the son of Witless, Jester to a noble and free- 
born man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon, — And I, 
30 Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd — ” 

“ Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

“By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. 
Then resuming his task, he went on, — “I, Gurth, the son of 
35 Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the assistance 
of our allies and confederates, who make common cause with us 
in this our feud, namely, the good knight, called for the present 
Le Noir Faineant^ and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, 
called Cleave-the-wand, Do you, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and 


IVANHOE. 


233 


your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas 
you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and 
by mastery seize^J upon the person of our lord and master the 
said Cedric; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn dam- 
sel, the Lady Eowena of Hargottstandstede ; also upon the per- 5 
son of a noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; 
also upon the persons of certain freeborn men, their cnichts ; 
also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen ; also upon a cer- 
tain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his daughter, a 
Jewess, and certain horses and mules: Which noble persons, 10 
with their cnichts and slaves, and also with the horses and 
mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all in peace with his 
majesty, and traveling as liege subjects upon the king’s high- 
way; therefore we require and demand that the said noble 
persons, namely, Cedric of Kotherwood, Eowena of Hargott- 15 
standstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, with their servants, 
cnichts^ and followers, also the horses and mules, Jew and 
Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels to them 
pertaining, be, within an hour after the delivery hereof, de- 
livered to us, or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the 20 
same, and that untouched and unharmed in body and goods. 
Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as 
robbers and traitors, and will wager our bodies against ye in 
battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost to your annoy- 
ance and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in his 25 
keeping. — Signed by us upon the eve of St. Withold’s day, 
under the great trysting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above 
being written by a holy man. Clerk to God, our Lady, and St. 
Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.” 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first 30 
place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a legend 
expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual of Wamba, 
son of Witless. Under this respectable emblem stood a cross, 
stated to be the mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph. Then 
was written, m rough bold characters, the words, LeNoir Faine- 35 
ant. And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough 
drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from end 
to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent amazement, 


234 


IVANH0E. 


as being utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. De 
Bracy was the first to break silence by an uncontrollable fit of 
laughter, wherein he was joined, though with more moderation, 
by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed im- 
5 patient of their ill-timed jocularity. 

“ I give you plain warning,” he said, “ fair sirs, that you had 
better consult how to bear yourselves under these circum- 
. stances, than give w^y to such misplaced merriment.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his 
10 late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “ he is cowed 
at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but from a fool and 
a swineherd.” 

“ By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ I would thou 
couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De 
15 Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with such incon- 
ceivable impudence, had they not been supported by some 
strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in this forest to 
resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who 
was taken red-handed and in the act, to the horns of a wild 
20 stag, which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as 
many arrows shot at me as there were launched against yonder 
target at Ashby. — Here, fellow,” he added, to one of his attend- 
ants, “hast thou sent out to see by what force this precious 
challenge is to be supported? ” 

25 “ There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 

woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance. 

“ Here is a proper matter ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ ‘ this comes 
of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your 
undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of hornets 
30 about my ears ! ” 

“ Of hornets! ” said De Bracy; “of stingless drones rather ; 
a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy the 
venison rather than labor for their maintenance.” 

“Stingless! ’’replied Front-de-Boeuf; “fork- headed shafts of 
35 a cloth-yard in length,, and these shot within the breadth of a 
French crown, are sting enough.” 

“For shame. Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us^ 
summon our people, 'and sally forth upon them. One knight — 
ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such peasants.” 


IVANHOE. 


235 


“ Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; ‘‘I should only 
be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“ True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “ were they blaok Turks 
or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most 
valiant De Bracy ; but these are English yeomen, over whom 
we shall have no advantage, save what we may derive from 
our arms and horses, which will avail us little in the glades of 
the forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men enough 
to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York ; so is all 
your band, De Bracy ; and we have scarcely twenty, besides 
the handful that were engaged in this mad business.” 

‘‘ Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they can as- 
semble in force sufficient to attempt the castle ? ” 

“ Not so. Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. “ These out- 
laws have indeed a daring captain ; but without machines, scal- 
ing ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy them.” 

“ Send to thy neighbors,” said the Templar; “let them as- 
semble their people, and come to the rescue of three knights, 
besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial castle of 
Keginald Front-de-Boeuf! ” 

‘ ‘ You jest. Sir Knight,” answered the baron ; ‘ ‘ but to whom 
should I send ? — Malvoisin is by this time at York with his 
retainers, and so are my other allies ; and so should I have been, 
but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“ Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De Bracy. 
“ If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my 
Free Companions, I will give them credit for the boldest out- 
laws ever bent bow in greenwood.” 

“ And who shall bear such a message? ” said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“they will beset every path, and rip the errand out of his 
bosom. — I have it,” he added, after pausing for a moment — 
“Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, and if we can 
but find the writing materials of my chaplain, who died a 
twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas carousals — ” 

“ So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attendance, 
“ I think oldUrfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love 
of the confessor. He was the last man, I have heard her tell, 
who ever said aught to her, which man ought in courtesy to 
address to maid or matron.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


236 


IVANHOE. 


“ Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ and 
then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold 
challenge.” 

‘ ‘ I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that of the 
5 pen,” said Bois-Guilbert ; “but be it as you will.” 

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French lan- 
guage, an epistle of the following tenor : — 

“ Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and knightly 
allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of 
jQ slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself 
the Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honors of chivalry, 
he ought to know that he stands degraded by his present asso- 
ciation, and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good 
men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we 
do in Christian charity require you to send a man of religion, 
to receive their confession, and reconcile them with God ; since 
it is our fixed intention to execute them this morning before 
noon, so that their heads being placed on the battlements, shall 
show to all men how lightly we esteem those who have bestirred 
2 q themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require 
you to send a priest to reconcile them to God, in doing which 
you shall render them the last earthly service.” 

This letter being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by 
him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer to 
25 that which he had brought. 

The yeoman having thus accomplished his mission, returned 
to the headquarters of the allies, which were for the present 
established under a venerable oak tree, about three arrow-flighty 
distant from the castle. Here Wamba and Gurth, with their 
gQ allies the Black Knight and Locksley, and the jovial hermit, 
awaited with impatience an answer to their summons. Around, 
and at a distance from them, were seen many a bold yeoman, 
whose silvan dress and weatherbeaten countenances showed thy 
ordinary nature of their occupation. More than two hundred 
25 had already assembled, and others were fast coming in. Those 
whom they obeyed as leaders were only distinguished from the 
others by a feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equip- 
ments being in all other respects the same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse armed iorce, 


IVANHOE. 


237 


consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighboring town- 
ship, as well as many bondsmen and servants from Cedric’s 
extensive estate, had already arrived, for the purpose of assist- 
ing in his rescue. Few of these were armed otherwise than with 
such rustic weapons as necessity sometimes converts to military 
purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, flails, and the like, were their 
chief arms; for the Normans, with the usual policy of con- 
querors, were jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons 
the possession or the use of swords and spears. These circum- 
stances rendered the assistance of the Saxons far from being 
so formidable to the besieged, as the strength of the men them- 
selves, their superior numbers, and the animation inspired by 
a just cause, might otherwise well have made them. It was to 
the leaders of this motley army that the letter of the Templar 
was now delivered. 

Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an exposition 
of its contents. 

“ By the crool^of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy ecclesiastic, 

‘ ‘ which hath brought more sheep within the sheepfold than 
the crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, I swear that I can- 
not expound unto you this jargon, which, whether it be French 
or Arabic, is beyond my guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head gruffly, 
and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at each of the 
four corners of the paper with such a grin of affected intelli- 
gence as a monkey is apt to assume upon similar occasions, 
then cut a caper, and gave the letter to Locksley. 

“ If the long letters were bows, and the short letters broad 
arrows, I might know something of the matter,” said the brave 
yeoman ; ‘ ‘ but as the matter stands, the meaning is as safe, for 
me, as the stag that’s at twelve miles distant.” 

‘‘ I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Knight; and taking 
the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to himself, and 
then explained the meaning in Saxon to his confederates. 

“ Execute the noble Cedric ! ” exclaimed Wamba; “ by the 
rood, thou must be mistaken. Sir Knight.” 

“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight; “I have 
explained the words as they are here set down.” • 

“Then, by St. Thomas Canterbury,” replied Gurth^ 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


^38 IVANHOE. 

“ we will have the castle, should we tear it down with our 
hands ! ” 

“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied Wamba; 
‘ ‘ but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks of freestone and 
6 mortar.” 

‘ ‘ ’Tis hut a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley ; “ they 
dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful penalty.” 

“I would,” said the Black Knight, “ there were some one 
among us who could obtain admission into the castle, and dis- 
10 cover how the case stands with the besieged. Methinks, as 
they require a confessor to be sent, this holy hermit might at 
once exercise his pious vocation, and procure us the informa- 
tion we desire.” 

“ A plague on thee, and thy advice! ” said the pious hermit ; 
15 “ I tell thee. Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my friar’s 
frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off 
along with it; and when in my green jerkin, I can better kill 
twenty deer than confess one Christian.” 

“ I fear,” said the Black Knight, “ I fear greatly, there is no 
20 one here that is qualified to take upon him, for the nonce, this 
same character of father confessor? ” 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

“ I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “ that the fool 
must be still the fool, and put his neck in the venture which 
25 wise men shrink from. You must know, my dear cousins and 
countrymen, that I wore russet before I wore motley, and was 
bred to be a friar, until a brain-fever came upon me and left 
me just wit enough to he a fool. I trust, with the assistance 
of the good hermit’s frock, together with the priesthood, sanc- 
30 tity , and learning which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall 
be found qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly com- 
fort to our worthy master Cedric, and his companions in ad- 
versity.” 

“Hath he sense enough, thinkest thou?” said the Black 
35 Knight, addressing Gurth. 

“ I know not,” said Gurth; “but if he hath not, it will be 
the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to account.” 

“On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the Knight, 
“and let thy master send us an account of their situation 


IVANHOE. 


239 


within the castle. Their numbers must be few, and it is five 
to one they may be accessible by a sudden and bold attack. 
Time wears — away with thee.” 

‘‘And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “ we will beset the 
place so closely, that not so much as a fiy shall carry news 1 
from thence. So that, my good friend,” he continued, ad- 
dressing Wamba, ‘ ‘ thou mayst assure these tyrants, that what- 
ever violence they exercise on the persons of their prisoners, 
shall be mostly severely repaid upon their own.” 

said Wamba, who was now muffled in his 10 

religious disguise?^ 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately deport- 
ment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

The hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire ; 

The friar will often play the fool, 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song, 

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the her- 
mit, and having his knotted cord twisted round his middle, 15 
stood before the portal of the castle of Front-de-Boeuf, the 
w^arder demanded of him his nnme and errand. 

“ Pax vobiscum^'' answered the Jester, “ I am a poor brother 
of the order of St. Francis, who come hither to do my office to 
certain unhappy prisoners now secured within this castle.” 20 

“ Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, “ to come hither, 
where, saving our own drunken confessor, acock of thy feather 
hath not crowed these twenty years.” 

“ Yet, I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the castle,” 
answered the pretended friar ; ‘ ‘ trust me, it will find good 25 
acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow, that the whole 
castle shall hear him.” 

“ Gramercy,” said the warder; “ but if I come to shame for 
leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether a friar’s 
gray gown be proof against a gray-goose shaft.” 30 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the hall 


240 


IVANHOE. 


of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar stood 
before the gate and demanded instant admission. With no 
small wonder he received his master’s commands to admit 
the holy man immediately; and, having previously manned 
5 the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without 
further scruple, the commands which he had received. The 
harebrained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to 
undertake this dangerous office, was scarce sufficient to sup- 
port him when he found himself in the presence of a man so 
10 dreadful, and so much dreaded, as Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
and he brought out his pax vohiscum^ to which he, in a good 
measure, trusted for supporting his character, with more 
anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. But 
Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble 
15 in. his presence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did 
not give him any cause of suspicion. ‘ ‘ Who and whence art 
thou, priest?” said he. 

“ Pax vobiscum,'' reiterated the Jester, “ I am a poor servant 
of St. Francis, who, traveling through this wilderness, have 
20 fallen among thieves, as Scripture hath it, quidam viator in- 
cidit in latrones, which thieves have sent me unto this castle 
in order to do my ghostly office on two persons condemned by 
your honorable justice.” 

“Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “and canst thou 
25 tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti ? ” 

“ G0,llant sir,” answered the Jester, “ nomen illis legio^ their 
name is legion.” 

‘ ‘ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, 
thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.” 

30 “ A las I ” said the supposed friar, “cor meum eructavit^ that 

is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive they 
may be — what of yeomen — what of commons, at least five 
hundred men.” 

‘What!” said the Templar, who came into the hall that 
35 moment, “muster the wasps so thick here? It is time to 
stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking Front-de^ 
Boeuf aside, “ Knowest thou the priest? ” 

“ He a stranger from a distant convent,” said Front-de 
Boeuf; “ I know him not.” 


IVANHOE. 


211 


“Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” answered 
the Templar. “ Let him carry a written order to De Bracy’s 
company of Free Companions^ to repair instantly to their mas- 
ter’s aid. In the meantime, and that the shaveling may 
suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of 
preparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.” 

“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith 
appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment 
where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than 
diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of 
the hall to the other, with the attitude of one who advances to 
charge an enemy, or to storm the breach of a beleaguered place, 
sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimes addressing Athel- 
stane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the issue of the adven- 
ture, digesting, in the meantime, with great composure, the 
liberal meal which he had made at noon, and not greatly inter- 
esting himself about the duration of his captivity,’ which, he 
concluded, would, like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s 
good time. 

Pax vohisGum^^^ said the Jester, entering the apartment; 
“the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Dennis, St. Duthoc and all 
other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.” 

“Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar; 
“ with what intent art thou come hither? ” 

“ To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered the 
Jester. 

“ It is impossible! ” replied Cedric, starting. “ Fearless and 
wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and 
gratuitous cruelty ! ” 

“ Alas! ” said the Jester, “ to restrain them by their sense of 
humanity, is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle 
of silk thread. ■ Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you 
also, gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in 
the flesh ; for this very day will ye be called to answer at a 
higher tribunal.” 

“Hearest thou this, Athelstane ?” said Cedric; MNe must 
rouse up our hearts to this last action, since betteJ^t is we 
iihould die like men, than live like slaves.” 

i6 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


:42 


IVANHOE. 


“ I am ready,” answered Athelstaiie, “ to stand the worst of 
their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much com- 
posure as ever I did to my dinner.” 

“Let us then unto our holy gear, father,” said Cedric. 

5 “Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in his 
natural tone; “better look long before you leap in the dark.” 

“ By my faith,” said Cedric, “ I should know that voice ! ” 

“ It is that of your trusty slave and jester,” answered Wamba, 
throwing back his cowl. “ Had you taken a fool’s advice for- 
10 merly, you would not have been here at all. Take a fool’s advice 
now, and you will not be here long.” 

“ How mean’st thou, knave? ” answered the Saxon. 

“ Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock and 
cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march quietly 
15 out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the 
long leap in thy stead.” 

“ Leave thee in my stead ! ” said Cedric, astonished at the 
proposal; “ why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.” 

“ E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; “ I 
20 trust — no disparagement to your birth — that the son of Witless 
may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung 
upon his ancestor the alderman.” 

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing will I 
grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange 
25 of garments with Lord Athelstaiie instead of me.” 

“ No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “ there were little 
reason in that. Good right there is, that the son of Witless 
should suffer to save the son of Here ward ; but little wisdom 
there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers 
30 were strangers^ to his.” 

“Villain,” said Cedric, “the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England ! ” 

“ They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied Wamba; 
“ but my neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to have 
35 it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either 
take my proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as 
free as I entered.” 

“ Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “ so the stately 
laope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, 


IVANHOE. 


243 


my trusty Wamba! it is the duty of each who has Saxon blood 
in his veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage 
of our injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse 
the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.” 

“ Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his hand, 
— for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments 
were not unbecoming his high race. — “ Not so,” he continued, 
“ I would rather remain in this hall a week without food save 
the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner’s meas- 
ure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which 
the slave’s untaught kindness has purveyed for his master.” 

“You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “and I a 
crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool 
shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of 
straining courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck’s 
mare, that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I 
came to save my master, and if he will not consent — basta — I 
can but go away home again. Kind service cannot be chucked 
from hand to hand like a shuttle-cock or stool-ball. I’ll hang 
fpr no man but my own born master.” 

“ Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ neglect not this 
opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends 
to our rescue — your remaining here will ruin us all.” 

“ And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without ? 
said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 

‘ ‘ Prospect, indeed ! ” echoed Wamba ; “let me tell you, when 
you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s cassock. 
Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning 
one of their chief leaders. My fool’s cap was a casque, and 
my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they 
will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear 
they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And 
so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog 
Fangs ; and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood, 
in memory that I flung away my life for my master, like a 
faithful fool. ” 

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, 
betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes.' 

“ Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “ while fidelity 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


’244 


IVANHOE. 


and affection have honor upon earth ! But that I trust I shall 
find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and 
thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in 
this matter,” 

5 The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sud- 
den doubt struck Cedric. 

“I know no language,” he said, “but my own, and a few 
Avords of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like 
a reverend brother ? ” 

10 The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba — “Paa? vohis- 
cum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, 
bless or ban. Pax vohiscum carries you through it all. It is as 
useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a 
conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone , — Pax vo- 
biscum ! — it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight and 
squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I 
think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is 
much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the 
finisher of the sentence.” 

20 “If such prove the case,” said his master, “my religious 
orders ai*e soon taken — Pax vohiscum. I trust I shall remem- 
ber the password. — Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, 
my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker 
head — I will save you, or return and die with you. The royal 
25 blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in 
my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind 
knave who risked himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can 
prevent it. — Farewell.” 

“ Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; “ remember it is 
3^^ the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are 
offered any.” 

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember Pax 
vohiscum. 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied fdrth upon his expedition; and 
35 it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of that 
spell which his Jester had recommended as omnipotent. In a 
low-arched and dusky passage, by which he endeavored to 
work his wa!y to the hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a 
female form. 


IVANHOE. 


245 


^^Pax vohiscum / ” said the pseudo friar, and was endeavoring 
to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, “ vohis — qiiceso, 
domine reverendissime^ pro misericordia vestra.^^ 

“ I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good Saxon,’ and 
at the same time muttered to himself, ‘ ‘A curse on the fool and 
his Pax vohiscum! I have lost my javelin at the first cast.” 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those 
days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who now 
addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“ I pray you of, dear love, reverend father,” she replied in 
his own language, “that you will deign to visit with your 
ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle,, and have 
such compassion upon him and us as thy holy office teaches. 
Never shall good deed so highly advantage thy convent.” 

“Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, “my 
time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the duties of 
mine office — I must presently forth — there is life and death 
upon my speed.” 

“Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have 
taken on you,” replied the suppliant, “not to leave the 
oppressed and endangered without counsel or succor.” 

“May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin 
with the souls of Odin and of Thor ! ” answered Cedric, impa- 
tiently, and would probably have proceeded in the same tone 
of total departure from his spiritual character, when the col- 
loquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of Urfried, the old 
crone of the turret. 

“How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “is this 
the manner in which you requite the kindness which permitted 
thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder ? — Puttest thou the rever- 
end man to use ungracious language to free himself from the 
importunities of a Jewess ? ” 

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the informa- 
tion to get clear of their interruption, — “ Let me pass, woman! 
stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from my holy office, 
and would avoid pollution.” 

“Come this way, father,” said the old hag; “thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a guide. 
Come hither, for I would speak with thee, — And you, daugh- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


246 


IVANHOE. 


ter of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s chamber, and 
tend him until my return ; and woe betide you if you again 
. quit it without my permission ! ” 

Eebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon 
5 Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had em- 
ployed her services where she herself would most gladly have 
paid them, by the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With 
an understanding awake to their dangerous situation, and 
prompt to avail herself of each means of safety which occurred, 
iO Rebecca had hoped something from the presence of a man of 
religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into 
this godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed 
ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing him, and interest- 
ing him in favor of the prisoners, with what imperfect success 
15 the reader has been just acquainted. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Fond wretch ! and what canst thou relate, 

But deeds of sorrow^ shame, and sin ? 

Thy deeds are proved — thou know’st thy fate ; 

But come, thy tale— begin— begin. 

* * * * * 5k * 

But I have griefs of other kind, 

Troubles and sorrows more severe ; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind, 

Lend to my woes a patient ear ; ' 

And let me, if I may not find 

A friend to help — find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice. 

When Urfried had with clamors and menaces driven Re- 
becca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, she 
proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apart- 
ment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetch- 
20 ing from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she 
placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting 
a fact than asking a question, “Thou art Saxon, father. — 
Deny it not,” she continued, observing that Cedric hastened 
not to reply; “the sounds of my native language are sweet to 


IVANHOE. 


247 


mine ears, though seldom heard, save from the tongues of the 
wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans 
impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a 
Saxon, father — a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of 
God, a freeman. — Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.” 

“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?” replied 
Cedric ; “it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the out- 
cast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“ They come not, or if they come, they better love to revel 
at the boards of their conquerors,” answered Urfried, “ than 
to hear the groans of their countrymen — so, at least, report 
speaks of them — of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten 
years, has opened to no priest save the debauched Norman 
chaplain who partook the nightly revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and 
he has been long gone to render an account of his stewardship. 
— But thou art a Saxon — a Saxon priest, and I have one question 
to ask of thee.” 

“ I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “but unworthy, surely, 
of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way. — I swear I 
will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear 
your confession.” 

“ Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “ the accents of the voice 
which thou hearest now will soon he choked with the cold 
earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I have lived. 
But wine must give me strength to tell thehorrorsof my tale.” 
She poured out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity, 
which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. 
“ It stupefies,” she said, looking upwards as she finished her 
draught, ‘ ' but it cannot cheer. — Partake it, father, if you would 
hear my tale without sinking down upon the pavement.” 
Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous con- 
viviality, but the sign which she made to him expressed im- 
patience and despair. He complied with her request, and 
answered her challenge in a large wine-cup ; she then proceeded 
with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance. 

“ I was not born,” she said, “ father, the wretch that thou 
now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honored, loved, and 
was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and degraded — the 
sport of my masters’ passions while I had yet beauty — the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


'248 


IVANHOE. 


object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it has passed 
away. Dost thoii wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, 
and, above all, the race that has wrouglit this change in me ? 
Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must 
5 vent itself in impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter 
of the noble Thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thou- 
sand vassals trembled ? ” 

“ Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger ! ” said Cedric, . 
receding as he spoke; “ thou — thou — the daughter of that 
10 noble Saxon, my father’s friend and companion in arms ! ” 

“ Thy father’s friend! ” echoed Urfried; “ then Cedric called 
the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Here ward of Eother- 
wood had but one son, whose name is well known among his 
countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Eotherwood, why this 
15 religious dress ? — Hast thou too despaired of saving thy coun- 
try, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of the 
convent ? ” 

‘ ‘ It matters not who I am,” said Cedric ; ‘ ‘ proceed, unhappy 
woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt! — Guilt there must 
20 be — there is guilt even in thy living to tell it. ” 

“ There is — there is,” answered the wretched woman, “ deep, 
black, damning guilt, — guilt that lies like a load at my breast 
— guilt that all the penitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse. 
— Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble and pure blood of 
25 my father and my brethren — in these very halls, to have lived 
the paramour of their murderer, the slave at once and the par- 
taker of his pleasures, was to render every breath which I drew 
of vital air, a crime and a curse.” 

“ Wretched woman !” exclaimed Cedric. “ And while the 
30 friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart, as it 
breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant sons, 
forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica — while all 
mourned and honored the dead, thou hast lived to merit our 
hate and execration — lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant 
35 who murdered thy nearest and dearest — who shed the blood of 
infancy, rather than a male of the noblehouseof Torquil Wolf- 
ganger should survive — with him hast thou lived to unite thy- 
self, and in the bands of lawless love ! ” 

“ In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love!” an* 


IVANHOE. 


249 


swered the hag; “ love will sooner visit the regions of eternal 
doom, than those unhallowed vaults. No, with that at least I 
cannot reproach myself. — Hatred to Front-de-Boeuf and his race 
governed my soul most deeply, even in the hour of his guilty 
endearments. ” 5 

“ You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric; 

“ wretch! was there no poniard — no knife — ^no bodkin! Well . 
.was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an existence, that 
the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of the grave. 
For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living in 10 
foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword 
of a true Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy 
paramour ! ” 

“ Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of 
Torquil ? ” said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed 15 
name of Urfried; “ thou art then the true Saxon report speaks 
thee ! for even within these accursed walls, where, as thou well 
sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery, even there 
has the name of Cedric been sounded — and I, wretched and 
degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an 20 
avenger of our unhappy nation. — I also have had my hours of 
vengeance — I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and 
heated drunken revelry into murderous broil — I have seen 
their blood flow — I have heard their dying groans I — Look on 
me, Cedric — are there not still left on this foul and faded face 25 
some traces of the features of Torquil ? ” 

“ Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in a tone of 
grief mixed with abhorrence; “ these traces form such a resem- 
blance as arises from the grave of the dead, when a flend has 
animated the lifeless corpse.” 30 

“Be it so,” answered Ulrica; “yet wore these flendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able to 
set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son Reginald ! 
The darkness of hell should hide what follow^ed, but revenge 
must lift the veil, and darkly intimate what it would raise the 35 
dead to speak aloud. Long had the smoldering fire of dis- 
cord glowed between the tyrant father and his savage son — 
long had I nursed, in secret, the unnatural hatred. It blazed 
forth in an hour of drunken wassail, and at his own board fell 


250 


IVANHOE. 


my oppressor by the hand of his own son. Such are the secrets 
these vaults conceal! — Rend asunder, ye accursed arches,” slie 
added, looking up towards the roof, “ and bury in your fall all 
who are conscious of the hideous mystery ! ” 

5 “And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said Cedric, 
“ what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher ? ” 

“ Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till age, pre- 
mature age, has stamped its ghastly features on my counte- 
nance — scorned and insulted where I was once obeyed, and 
10 compelled to bound the revenge which had once such ample 
scope, to the efforts of petty malice of a discontented menial, 
or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag — condemned 
to hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in which 
I once partook, or the shrieks and groans of new victims of 
15 oppression.” 

“Ulrica,” said Cedric, “with a heart which still, I fear, 
regrets the lost reward of thy crimes; as much as the deeds by 
which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst thou dare to 
address thee to one who wears this robe ? Consider, unhappy 
20 woman, what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee, 
were he here in bodily presence ? The royal Confessor was 
endowed by Heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the 
body, but only God himself can cure the leprosy of the soul.” 
“Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,” she ex- 
25 claimed, “but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall terminate 
these new and awful feelings that burst on my solitude. — Why 
do deeds, long since done, rise before me in new and irresistible 
horrors ? What fate is prepared beyond the grave for her, to 
whom God has assigned on earth a lot of such unspeakable 
30 wretchedness ? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and 
Zernebock — to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet un- 
baptized ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations 
which have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping hours ! ” 
“I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust from. 
35 this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; “ I 
am no priest, though I wear a priest’s garment.” 

“ Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “ thou art the first I 
have seen for twenty years, by whom God was feared or man 
regarded; and dost thou bid me despair ? ” 


IVANHOE. 


251 


“ I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “ Seek to prayer and pen- 
ance, and mayest thou find acceptance ! But I cannot, I will 
not, longer abide with thee.” 

“ Stay yet a moment! ” said Ulrica; “leave me not now, 
son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has governed 5 
my life should tempt me to avenge myself of thy hard-hearted 
scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric the 
Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, that thy life would be a 
long one ? — Already his eye has been upon thee like a falcon 
on his prey.” 10 

‘ ‘ And be it so, ” said Cedric ; ‘ ‘ and let him tear me with beak 
and talons, ere my tongue say one word which my heart doth 
not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in word, open in deed. 

— I bid thee avaunt ! — touch me not, stay me not ! — The sight 
of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to me than thou, de- 15 
graded and degenerate as thou art.” 

“Be it so,” said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; “ go thy 
way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superiority, that the 
wretch before thee is the daughter of thy father’s friend. — Go 
thy way — if I am separated from mankind by my sufferings — 20 
separated from those whose aid I might most justly expect — 
not less will I be separated from them in my revenge! — No 
man shall aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear 
of the deed which I shall dare to do ! — Farewell ! — thy scorn 
has burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind 25 
— a thought that my woes might claim the compassion of my 
people.” 

“ Ulrica, ” said Cedric, softened by this appeal, “hast thou 
borne up and endured to live through so much guilt and so 
much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair when thine 3C 
eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when repentance were thy 
fitter occupation ? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered IJlrica, “ thou little kno west the human 
heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have thought, 
requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled with the keen 35 
appetite of revenge, the proud consciousness of power ; draughts 
too intoxicating for the human heart to bear, and yet retain 
the power to prevent. Their force has long passed away. Age 
has no pleasures,* wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself 


252 


IVANHOE. 


dies away in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all 
its vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past, and despair 
for the future! — Then, when all other strong impulses have 
ceased, we become like the fiends in hell, who may feel re- 
5 morse, but never repentance. — But thy words have awakened 
a new soul within me. Well hast thou said, all is possible for 
those who dare to die! — Thou hast shown me the means of 
revenge, and be assured I will embrace them. It has hitherto 
shared this wasted bosom with other and with rival passions — 
10 henceforward it shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt 
say, that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her death well be- 
came the daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a force with- 
out beleaguering this accursed castle. Hasten to lead them to 
the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from the 
15 turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press the Normans 
hard — they will then have enough to do within, and you may 
win the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel. — Begone, I 
pray thee — follow thine own fate, and leave me to mine.” 

Cedric would have inquired farther into the purpose which 
20 she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice of Front- de- 
Boeuf was heard, exclaiming, “ Where tarries this loitering 
priest ? By the scallop-shell of Compostella, I will make a 
martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch treason among my 
domestics ! ” 

25 “ What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “ is an evil conscience ! 

But heed him not — out and to thy people. Cry your Saxon 
onslaught, and let them sing their war-song of Eollo, if they 
will; vengeance shall bear a burden to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, and 
30 Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, with 
some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the; 
haughty Baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight incli- 
nation of the head. 

“Thy penitents, father, have made along shrift — it is the 
35 better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast 
thou prepared them for death ? ” 

“I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he could 
command, “ expecting the worst, from the moment they knew 
into whose power they had fallen.” 


IVANHOE. 


253 


“ How now, Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “thy speech, 
methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue ? ” 

“I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,” 
answered Cedric. 

‘ ‘ Ay ? ” said the Baron ; “it had been better for thee to have 
been a Norman, and better for my purpose too; but need has 
no choice of messengers. That St. Withold’s of Burton is a 
howlet’s nest worth the harrying. The day will soon come 
that the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the mail- 
coat.” 

“ God’s will be done,” said Cedric, in a voice tremulous with 
passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

“I see,” said he, “thou dreamest already that our men-at- 
arms are in thy refectory and thy ale- vaults. But do me one 
cast of thy holy office, and, come what list of others, thou 
shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of 
proof.” 

“ Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with suppressed 
emotion. 

“ Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss 
thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he desired 
he should act. ^ 

‘ ‘ Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who have 
dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them what- 
ever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this fortalice, or 
aught else that can detain them before it for twenty-four hours. 
Meantime bear thou this scroll — But soft — canst read, Sir 
Priest ? ” 

“ Not a jot I,” answered Cedric, “ save on my breviary; and 
then I know the characters, because I have the holy service by 
heart, praised be Our Lady and St. Withold! ” 

“The fitter messenger for my purpose. — Carry thou this 
scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin ; say it cometh from 
me, and is written by the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and 
that I pray him to send it to York with all the speed man and 
horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing, he 
shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement. Shame 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

85 


254 


IVANHOE. 


on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of 
runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pen- 
nons and the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, con- 
trive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they are, 

5 until our friends bring up their lances. My vengeance is 
awake, and she is a falcon that slumbers not till she has been 
gorged.” 

“ By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper energy than 
became his character, “ and by every saint who has lived and 
10 died in England, your commands shall be obeyed! Not a 
Saxon shall stir from before these walls, if I have art and in- 
fluence to detain them there.” 

“Ha! ’’said Front-de-Boeuf, “thou changest thy tone. Sir' 
Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in the 
15 slaughter of the Saxon herd ; and yet thou art thyself of kin- 
dred to the swine ? ” 

Cedric was no ready practicer of the art of dissimulation, 
and would at this moment have been much the better of a hint 
from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But necessity, according 
20 to the ancient proverb, sharpens invention, and he muttered 
something under his cowl concerning the men in question being 
excommunicated outlaws both to church and to kingdom. 

“ Despardieux''^ answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ thou hast 
spoken the very truth — I forgot that the knaves can strip a 
25 fat abbot, as well as if they had been born south of yonder 
salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives whom they tied to an ■ 
oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass while they were rifling ' 
his mails and his wallets ? — No, by Our Lady ! — that jest was 
played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own companions- 
30 at-arms. But they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St. 
Bees of cup, candlestick, and chalice, were they not ? ” 

“ They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“ Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that lay 
in store for many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye are 
35 but busied with vigils and primes ! — Priest, thou art bound to 
revenge such sacrilege.” 

“I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured Cedric; 

“ Saint Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a postern, 


IVANHOE. 


255 


where, passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a 
small barbican, or exterior defense, which communicated with 
the open field by a well-fortified sallyport. 

“Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine eiTand, and if thou 
return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon fiesh cheap 
as ever was Jiog’s in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark 
thee, thou seemest to be a jolly confessor — come hither after 
the onslaught, and thou shalt have as much Malvoisie as would 
drench thy whole convent.” 

“ Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

“Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Norman; 
and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust into Cedric's 
reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, “ Remember, I will fiay 
off both cowl and skin, if thou failestin thy purpose.” 

“ And full leave will I give thee to do both,” answered Cedric, 
leaving the postern, and striding forth over the free field with 
a joyful step, “if, when we meet next, I deserve not better at 
thine hand.” — Turning then back towards the castle, he threw 
the piece of gold towards the donor, exclaiming at the same 
time, ‘ ‘ False Norman, thy money perish with thee ! ” 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the action 
was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the warders on the 
outward battlements, “ send me an arrow through yon monk’s 
frock ! Yet stay,” he said, as his retainers were bending their 
bows, ‘ ‘ it avails not — we must thus far trust him since we 
have no better shift. I think he dares not betray me — at the 
worst I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe 
in kennel. Ho ! Giles jailer, let them bring Cedric of Rother- 
wood before me, and the other churl, his companion — him I 
mean of Coningsburgh — Athelstane there, or what call they 
him ? Their very names are an encumbrance to a Norman 
knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a flavor of bacon. Give 
me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may wash 
away the relish — place it in the armory, and thither lead the 
prisoners.” 

His commands were obeyed ; and, upon entering that Gothic 
apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own valor and 
that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on the massive 
oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under the guard of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


25C 


IVANHOP.. 


four of his dependents. Front-de-Boeuf took a long draught 
of wine, and then addressed his prisoners ; for the manner in 
which Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, 
the gloomy and broken light, and the Baron’s imperfect 
5 acquaintance with the features of Cedric, (who avoided his 
Norman neighbors, and seldom stirred beyond his own do- 
mains,) prevented hip from discovering that the most impor- 
tant of his captives had made his escape. 

‘‘ Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “how relish ye 
10 your entertainment at Torquilstone ? — Are ye yet aware what 
your surquedy and outrecuidance merit, for scoffing at the 
entertainment of a prince of the House of Anjou ? — Have ye 
forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality of the 
royal John ? By God and St. Dennis, an ye pay not the richer 
15 ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of 
these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made 
skeletons of you! — Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — what bid ye 
for your worthless lives ? — How say you, you of Rother- 
wood ? ” 

20 “Not a doit I,” answered poor Wamba — “ and for hanging 
up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, they say, ever 
since the biggin was bound first round my head ; so turning 
me upside down may peradventure restore it again.” 

“ Saint Genevieve ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ what have we got 
25 here ? ” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap from 
the head of the Jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered 
the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar round his neck. 

‘ ‘ Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets ! ” exclaimed the furious 
30 Norman, “ what have you brought me here ? ” 

“ I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just entered 
the apartment. “ This is Cedric’s clown, who fought so man- 
ful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a question of preced- 
ence.” 

35 “I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de-Boeuf; 
‘ ‘ they shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and 
this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. Their 
w^ealth is the least they can surrender ; they must also carry 
off with them the swarms that are besetting the castle, sub- 


IVANHOE. 


257 


scribe a surrender of their pretended immunities, and live 
under us as serfs and vassals ; too happy if, in the new world 
that is about to begin, we leave them the breath of their nos- 
trils. — Go,” said he to two of his attendants, “fetch me the 
right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for once ; the 
rather that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin.” 

“Ay, but,” said Wamba, “ your chivalrous excellency will 
find there are more fools than franklins among us.” 

“What means the knave?” said Front-de-Boeuf, looking 
towards his followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth 
their belief, that if this were not Cedric who was there in pres- 
ence, they knew not what was become of him. 

“ Saints of Heaven ! ” exclaimed De Bracy, “ he must have 
escaped in the monk’s garments ! ” 

“ Fiends of hell ! ” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, “ it was then the 
boar of Bother wood whom I ushered to the postern, and dis- 
missed with my own hands ! — And thou,” he said to Wamba, 
“ whose folly could overreach the wisdom of idiots yet more 
gross than thyself — I will give thee holy orders — I will shave 
thy crown for thee ! — Here, let them tear the scalp from his 
head, and then pitch him headlong from the battlements. — 
Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now ? ” 

“You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,” 
whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery 
were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of 
death ; “if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a simple 
monk you will make a cardinal.” 

“The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “is resolved to die in 
his vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. Give 
him to me to make sport for my Free Companions. — How 
sayest thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of grace, and go 
to the wars with me? ” 

“Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “for look 
you, I must not slip collar ” (and he touched that which he 
wore) “ without his permission.” 

“Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” said De 
Bracy. 

“Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the pro- 
verb — 

17 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


258 


IVANHOE. 


“ * Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke ; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish ; 

Blithe w’orld to England never will be more, 

Till England’s rid of all the four.’ ” 

“ Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to stand 
there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction is gaping 
for us! Seest thou not we are overreached, and that our pro- 
10 posed mode of communicating with our friends without has 
been disconcerted by this same motley gentleman thou art so 
fond to brother ? What views have we to expect but instant 
storm? ” 

“To the battlements, then,” said De Bracy; “when didst 
15 thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle? Call 
the Templar yonder, and let him fight but half so well for his 
life as he has done for his Order. — Make thou to the w'alls thy- 
self with thy huge body. — Let me do my poor endeavor in my 
own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as well at- 
20 tempt to scale the clouds, as the castle of Torquilstone; or, 
if you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the media- 
tion of this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep con- 
templation of the wine-fiagon ? — Here, Saxon,” he continued, 
addressing Athelstane, and handing the cup to him, “rinse 
25 thy throat with that noble liquor, and rouse up thy soul to 
say what thou wilt do for thy liberty.” 

“What a man of mold may,” answered Athelstane, “pro- 
viding it be what a man of manhood ought. — Dismiss me free, 
with my companions, and l" will pay a ransom of a thousand 
30 marks.” 

“And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of 
mankind who are swarming around the castle, contrary to 
God’s peace and the king’s ? ” said Front-de-Boeuf. 

“In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “ I will with- 
35 draw them ; and I fear not but that my father Cedric will do 
his best to assist me.” 

“We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf — “thou and 
they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, 
for payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling ransom, 
Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to the moderation which 


IVANHOE. 


259 


accepts of it in exchange of your persons. But mark, this 
extends not to the Jew Isaac.” 

“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, who 
had now joined them. 

“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “belong to this Saxon’s 5 
company.” 

“I were unworthy to he called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane; “deal with the unbelievers as ye list.” 

“Neither does the ransom include the Lady Eowena,” said 
De Bracy. “ It shall never be said I was scared out of a fair 10 
prize without striking a blow for it.” 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “does our treaty refer to 
this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make him 
an example to every knave who turns jest into earnest.” 

“The Lady Eowena,” answered Athelstane, with the most 15 
steady countenance, ‘ ‘ is my affianced bride. I will be drawn by 
wild horses before I consent to part with her. The slave W amba 
has this day saved the life of my father Cedric. I will lose 
mine ere a hair of his head be injured.” 

‘ ‘ Thy affianced bride? — The Lady Eowena the affianced bride 20 
of a vassal like thee ? ” said De Bracy. “ Saxon, thou dream- 
est that the days of thy seven kingdoms are returned again. I 
tell thee, the Princes of the House of Anjou confer not their 
wards on men of such lineage as thine.” 

“ My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, “ is drawn 25 
from a source more pure and ancient than that of a beggarly 
Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the blood of the 
thieves whom he assembles under his paltry standard. Kings 
were my ancestors, strong in war and wise in council, who 
every day feasted in their hall more hundreds than thou canst SO 
number individual followers ; whose names have been sung by 
minstrels, and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes ; whose 
bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose 
tombs minsters have been builded.” 

“ Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, well pleased 35 
with the rebuff which his companion had received ; “ the Saxon 
hath hit thee fairly.” 

“ As fairly as a captive can strike,” said De Bracy, with ap- 
parent carelessness ; ‘ ‘ for he whose hands are tied should have 


260 


lYANHOE. 


his tongue at freedom. — But thy glibness of reply, comrade/ 
rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, “will not win the freedom 
of the Lady Rowena.” 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer speech 
6 than was his custom to do on any topic, however interesting, 
returned no answer. The conversation was interrupted by the 
arrival of a menial, who announced that a monk demanded 
admittance at the postern gate. 

‘ ‘ In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these bull-beg- 
10 gars,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ have we a real monk this time, 
or another impostor ? Search him, slaves — for an ye suffer a 
second impostor to be palmed upon you, I will have your eyes 
torn out, and hot coals put into the sockets.” 

“ Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord,” said 
15 Giles, “ if this be not a real shaveling. Your squire Jocelyn 
Knows him well, and will vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a 
monk in attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “most likely he brings 
us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil keeps holi- 
20 day, and the priests are relieved from duty, that they are 
strolling thus wildly through the country. Remove these 
prisoners ; and, Saxon, think on what thou hast heard.” 

“ I claim,” said Athelstane, “an honorable imprisonment, 
with due care of my board and of my couch, as becomes my 
25 rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for ransom. More- 
over, I hold him that deems himself the best of you, bound to 
answer to me with his body for this aggression on my freedom. 
This defiance hath already been sent to thee by thy sewer ; 
thou underliest it, and art bound to answer me. There lies 
30 my glove.” 

“ I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. — Giles,” he con- 
tinued, ‘ ‘ hang the franklin’s glove upon the tine of yonder 
branched antlers ; there shall it remain until he is a free man. 
35 Should he then presume to demand it, or to affirm he was un- 
lawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint Christopher, 
he will speak to one who hath never refused to meet a foe on 
loot or on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back ! ” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as they 


IVANHOE. 261 

introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in great 
perturbation. » 

“ This is the real Deus vdbiscum^^'' said Wamba, as he passed 
the reverend brother ; “ the others were but counterfeits.” 

‘ ‘ Holy mother ! ” said the monk, as he addressed the assem- 5 
bled knights, I am at last safe and in Christian keeping ! ” 

“ Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy ; “ and for Christianity, 
here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter 
abomination is a Jew ; and the Good Knight Templar, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay Saracens. If these are io 
not good marks of Christianity, I know no other which they 
bear about them.” 

“ Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, 
Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, without noticing 
the tone of De Bracy ’s reply ; “ ye owe him aid both by knightly 15 
faith and holy charity ; Tor what saith the blessed Saint 
Augustine, in his treatise De Civitate Dei — ” 

“ What saith the devil! ” interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; “ or 
rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest? We have little time to 
hear texts from the holy fathers.” 20 

‘ ‘ Sancta Maria ! ” ejaculated Father Ambrose, ‘ ‘ how prompt 
to ire are these unhallowed laymen ! — But be it known to you, 
brave knights, that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind 
them fear of God, and reverence of his church, and not regard- 
ing the bull of the holy see. Si quis, suadente Diaholo — ” 25 

“ Brother priest,” said the Templar, “all this we know or 
guess at — tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made prisoner, 
and to whom ? ” 

“ Surely,” said Ambrose, “ he is in the hands of the men of 
Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners of the holy 30 
text, ‘ Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets naught 
of evil.’” 

“ Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf, turning to his companion ; “ and so, instead of reach- 
ing us any assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our 35 
hands? A man is well helped of these lazy churchmen when 
he hath most to do ! — But speak out, priest, and say at once, 
what doth thy master expect from us ? ” 

“ So please you,” said Ambrose, “ violent bands having been 


2G2 


IVANHOE. 


imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the holy ordi- 
nance which I did already quote, and the men of Belial having 
rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped him of two hundred 
marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand of him a large 
5 sum besides, ere they will suffer him to depart from their uncir- 
cumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend father in God prays 
you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying down 
the ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at 
your best discretion.” 

10 “ The foul fiend quell the Prior! ” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ his 

morning’s draught has been a deep one. When did thy master 
hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse to relieve a 
churchman, whose bags are ten times as weighty as ours ? — 
And how can we do aught by valor to free him, that are 
15 cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect an assault 
every moment? ” 

“ And that was what I was about to tell you,” said the monk, 
“ had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God help me, I am 
old, and these foul onslaughts distract an aged man’s brain. 
20 Nevertheless, it is of verity that they assemble a camp, and 
raise a bank against the walls of this castle.” 

“ To the battlements !” cried De Bracy, “and let us mark 
what these knaves do without;” and so saying, he opened a 
latticed window which led to a sort of bartizan or projecting 
25 balcony, and immediately called from thence to those in the 
apartment — “Saint Dennis, but the old monk hath brought 
true tidings! — They bring forward mantelets and pavisses, 
and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark 
cloud before a hailstorm.” z 

30 Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, and 
immediately snatched his bugle; and, after winding a long and 
loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on the walls. 

“ De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are 
lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee 
35 how to attack and defend, look thou to the western side — I 
myself will take post at the barbican. Yet, do not confine your 
exertions to anyone spot, noble friends! — we must this day 
he everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were it possible, so as 
to carry by our presence succor and relief wherever the attack 


IVANHOE. 


263 


is hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage 
may supply that defect, since we have only to do with rascal 
clowns.” 

“ But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst 
the bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for 5 
defense, “ will none of ye hear the message of the reverend 
father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx? — I beseech thee to 
hear me, noble Sir Eeginald ! ” 

“ Go patter thy petitions to heaven,” said the fierce Norman, 

“ for we on earth have no time to listen to them. — Ho! there, 10 
Anselm ! see that seething pitch and oil are ready to pour on 
the heads of these audacious traitors. Look that the cross- 
bowmen lack not bolts. Fling abroad my banner with the 
old bull’s head — the knaves shall soon find with whom they 
have to do this day! ” 15 

“ But, noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering in his 
endeavors to draw attention, “ consider my vow of obedience, 
and let me discharge myself of my superior’s errand.” 

“ Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ lock 
him up in the chapel, to tell his beads till the broil be over. It20 
will be a new thing to the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves 
and paters; they have not been so honored, I trow, since they 
were cut out of stone.” 

“ Blaspheme not the holy saints. Sir Eeginald,” said De 
Bracy; “ we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon 25 
rascal rout disband.” 

“ r expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 

“ unless we were to hurl them from the battlements on the 
heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering Saint Chris- 
topher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole company to the earth. 30 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the 
proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more attention than 
the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion. 

“ By the faith of mine order,” he said, “ these men approach 
with more touch of discipline than could have been judged, 35 
however they come by it. See ye how dexterously they avail 
themselves of every cover which a tree or bush affords, and 
shun exposing themselves to the shot of our crossbows ? I spy 
neither banner nor pennon among them, and yet will I gage 


264 


IVANHOE. 


my golden chain, that they are led on by s :)me noble knight or 
gentleman, skillful in the practice of wars.’^ 

“ I espy him,” said De Bracy ; ‘ ‘ I see the waving of a knight’s 
crest, and the gleam of his armor. See yon tall man in the 
5 black mail, who is busied marshaling thf) farther troop of the 
rascaille yeomen — by Saint Dennis, I hoi 1 him to be the same 
whom we called Le Noir Faineant^ who overthrew thee, Front- 
de-Boeuf, in the lists of Ashly.” 

“ So much the better,” said Front-de-Boeuf , “ that he comes 
iO here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow he must be, 
who dared not stay to assert his claim to the tourney prize 
which chance had assigned him. I should in vain have sought 
for him where knights and nobles seek their foes, and right 
glad am I he hath here shown himself among yon villain 
15 yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach cut 
off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his post, and 
at the head of the few followers whom they were able to muster, 
and who were in numbers inadequate to defend the whole ex- 
20 tent of the walls, they awaited with calm determination the 
threatened assault. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

This wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt, 

Find them acquainted with their secret treasures ; 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, 

Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew, 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a few 
pages, to inform the reader of certain passages material to his 
understanding the rest of this important narrative. His own 
25 intelligence may indeed have easily anticipated that, when 
Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned by all tlie world, 
it was the importunity of Rebecca which prevailed on her 
father to have the gallant young warrior transported from the 
lists to the house which for the time the Jews inhabited in the 
uO suburbs of Ashby, 


IVANHOE. 


2G5 


It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac to 
this step in any other circumstances, for his disposition was 
kind and grateful. But he had also the prejudices and scrupu- 
' lous timidity of his persecuted people, and those were to be 
conquered. 

“ Holy Abraham! ” he exclaimed, “ he is a good youth, and 
my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his rich embroid- 
ered hacqueton, and his corselet of goodly price — but to carry 
him to our house ! — damsel, hast thou well considered ? — he is 
a Christian, and by our law we may not deal with the stranger 
and Gentile, save for the advantage of our commerce.” 

“ Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca; “ we may 
not indeed mix with them in banquet and in jollity; but in 
wounds and in misery, the Gentile becometh the Jew’s 
brother.” 

“ I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob Ben Tudela would 
opine on it,” replied Isaac ; — ‘ ‘ nevertheless, the good youth must 
not bleed to death. Let Seth and Reuben bear him to Ashby.” 

“ Nay, let them place him in my litter,” said Rebecca; “ I 
will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of Ish- 
mael and of Edom,” whispered Isaac, with a suspicious glance 
towards the crowd of knights and squires. But Rebecca was 
already busied in carrying her charitable purpose into effect, 
and listed not what he said, until Isaac, seizing the sleeve of 
her mantle, again exclaimed, in a hurried voice — “Beard of 
Aaron I — what if the youth perish ! — if he die in our custody, 
shall we not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces 
by the multitude ? ” 

“ He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently extrica- 
ting herself from the grasp of Isaac — “ he will not die unless 
we abandon him ; and if so, we are indeed answerable for his 
blood to God and to man.” 

“ Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “ it grieveth me as 
much to see the drops of his blood, as if they were so many 
golden byzants from mine own purse; and I well know, that 
the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi Manasses of 
Byzantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have made thee skillful 
in the art of healing, and that thou knowest the craft of herbs, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


266 


IVANHOE. 


and the force of elixirs. Therefore, do as thy mind giveth 
thee — thou art a good damsel, a blessing, and a crown, and a 
song of rejoicing unto me and unto my house, and unto the 
people of my fathers.” 

5 The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill founded ; 
and the generous and grateful benevolence of his daughter 
exposed her, on her return to Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The Templar twice passed and re- 
passed them on the road, fixing his bold and ardent look on the 
:o beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen the consequences 
of the admiration which her charms excited, when accident 
threw her into the power of that unprincipled voluptuary. 

Eebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be transported 
to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded with her own hands 
15 to examine and to bind up his wounds. The youngest reader 
of romances and romantic ballads, must recollect how often the 
females, during the dark ages, as they are called, were initiated 
into the mysteries of surgery, and how frequently the gallant 
knight submitted the wounds of his person to her cure, whose 
20 eyes had yet more deeply penetrated his heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and practised 
the medical science in all its branches, and the monarchs and 
powerful barons of the time frequently committed themselves 
to the charge of some experienced sage among this despised 
25 people, when wounded or in sickness. The aid of the Jewish 
physicians was not the less eagerly sought after, though a 
general belief prevailed among the Christians, that the Jewish 
Rabbins were deeply acquainted with the occult sciences, and 
particularly with the cabalistical art, which had its name and 
30 origin in the studies of the sages of Israel. Neither did the 
Rabbins disown such acquaintance with supernatural arts, 
which added nothing (for what could add aught ?) to the hatred 
with which their nation was regarded, while it diminished the 
contempt with which that malevolence was mingled. A Jew- 
35 ish magician might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a 
Jewish usurer, but he could not be equally despised. It is 
besides probable, considering the wonderful cures they are said 
to have performed, that the Jews possessed some secrets of the 
healing art peculiar to themselves, and which, with the ex- 


IVANHOE. 


267 


elusive spirit arising out of their condition, they took great 
care to conceal from the Christians amongst whom they dwelt. 

The beautiful Eebecca had been heedfully brought up in all 
the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt and power- 
ful mind had retained, arranged, and enlarged, in the course 
of a progress beyond her years, her sex, and even the age in 
which she lived. Her knowledge of medicine and of the 
healing art had been acquired under an aged Jewess, the 
daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors, who loved 
Rebecca as her own child, and was believed to have communi- 
cated to her secrets, which had been left to herself by her 
sage father at the same time, and under the same circum- 
stances. The fate of Miriam had indeed been to fall a sacrifice 
to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets had survived in 
her apt pupil. 

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, was 
universally revered and admired by her own tribe, who al- 
most regarded her as one of those gifted women mentioned in 
the sacred history. Her father himself, out of reverence for 
her talents, which involuntarily mingled itself with his un- 
bounded affection, permitted the maiden a greater liberty than 
was usually indulged to those of her sex by the habits of her 
people, and was, as we have just seen, frequently guided by 
her opinion, even in preference to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was still 
in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse loss of 
blood which had taken place during his exertions in the lists. 
Rebecca examined the wound, and having applied to it such 
vulnerary remedies as her art prescribed, informed her father 
that if fever could be averted, of which the great bleeding 
rendered her little apprehensive, and if the healing balsam of 
Miriam retained its virtue, there was nothing to fear for his 
guest’s life, and that he might with safety travel to York with 
them on the ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank at this 
annunciation. His charity would willingly have stopped short 
at Ashby, or at most would have left the wounded Christian to 
be tended in the house where he was residing at present, with 
an assurance to the Hebrew to whom it belonged, that all 
expenses should be duly discharged. To this, however, Rebecca 


10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


268 


IVANH 0 E. 


opposed many reasons, of which we shall only mention two 
that had peculiar weight with Isaac. The one was, that she 
would on no account put the phial of precious balsam into the 
hands of another physician even of her own tribe, lest that 
5 valuable mystery should be discovered ; the other, that this 
wounded knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an intimate favorite 
of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch 
should return, Isaac, who had supplied his brother John with 
treasure to prosecute his rebellious purposes, would stand 
10 in no small need of a powerful protector who enjoyed Rich- 
ard’s favor. 

“ Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac, giving 
way to these weighty arguments — “it were an offending of 
Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed Miriam ; for the 
15 good which Heaven giveth, is not rashly to be squandered 
upon others, whether it be talents of gold and shekels of silver, 
or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise physician — 
assuredly they should be preserved to those to whom Prov- 
idence hath vouchsafed them. And him whom the Nazarenes 
20 of England call the Lion’s Heart, assuredly it were better for 
me to fall into the hands of a strong lion of Idumea than into 
his, if he shall have got assurance of my dealing with his 
brother. Wherefore I will lend ear to thy counsel, and this 
youth shall journey with us unto York, and our house shall 
25 be as a home to him until his wounds shall be healed. And if 
he of the Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is now noised 
abroad, then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a 
wall of defense, when the king’s displeasure shall burn high 
against thy father. And if he doth not return, this Wilfred 
30 may natheless repay us our charges when he’shall gain treasure 
by the strength of his spear and of his sword, even as he did 
yesterday and this day also. For the youth is a good youth, 
and keepeth the day which he appointeth, and restoreth that 
which he borroweth, and succoreth the Israelite, even the 
35 child of my father’s house, when he is encompassed by strong 
thieves and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe was 
restored to consciousness of his situation. He awoke from a 
broken slumber, under the confused impressions which are 


IVANHOE. 


269 


naturally attendant on the recovery from a state of insensi- 
bility. He was unable for some time to recall exactly to 
memory the circumstances which had preceded his fall in the 
lists, or to make out any connected chain of the events in 
which he had been engaged upon the yesterday. A sense of 
wounds and injury, joined to great weakness and exhaustion, 
was mingled with the recollection of blows dealt and received, 
of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrowing and over- 
thrown — of shouts and clashing of arms, and all the heady 
tumult of a confused fight. An effort to draw aside the cur- 
tain of his couch was in some degree successful, although ren- 
dered difficult by the pain of his wound. 

To his great surprise he found himself in a room magnifi- 
cently furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs to rest 
upon, and in other respects partaking so much of Oriental 
costume, -that he began to doubt whether he had not, during 
his sleep, been transported back again to the land of Palestine. 
The impression was increased, when, the tapestry being drawn 
aside, a female form, dressed in a rich habit, which partook 
more of the Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided through 
the door which it concealed, and was followed by a swarthy 
domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair appari- 
tion, she imposed silence by placing her slender finger upon her 
ruby lips, while the attendant, approaching him, proceeded to 
uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the lovely Jewess satisfied herself 
that the bandage was in its place, and the wound doing well. 
She performed her task with a graceful and dignified simpli- 
city and modesty, which might, even in more civilized days, 
have served to redeem it from whatever might seem repug- 
nant to female delicacy. The idea of so young and beautiful 
a person engaged in attendance on a sick-bed, or in dressing 
the wound of one of a different sex, was melted away and lost 
in that of a beneficent being contributing her effectual aid to 
relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death. Kebecca’s few 
and brief directions were given in the Hebrew language to the 
old domestic ; and he, who had been frequently her assistant 
in similar cases, obeyed them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh they 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


270 


IVANHOE. 


might have sounded when uttered by another, had, coming 
from the beautiful Eebecca, the romantic and pleasing effect 
which fancy ascribes to the charms pronounced by some 
beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, from 
5 the sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect, which 
accompanied them, touching and affecting to the heart. 
Without making an attempt at further question, Ivanhoe 
suffered them in silence to take the measures they thought 
most proper for his recovery ; and it was not until those were 
10 completed, and this kind physician about to retire, that his 
curiosity could no longer be suppressed. — “ Gentle maiden,” he 
began in the Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern travels 
had rendered him familiar, and which he thought most likely 
to be understood by the turban’d and caftan’d damsel who 
15 stood before him — “ I pray you, gentle maiden, of your cour- 
tesy — ” 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a smile 
which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an instant a face, 
whose general expression was that of contemplative m^lan- 
20 choly. “I am of England, Sir Knight, and speak the English 
tongue, although my dress and my lineage belong to another 
climate.” 

“ Noble damsel,” — again the Knight of Ivanhoe began; and 
again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

25 “Bestow not on me. Sir Knight,” she said, “the epithet of 
noble. It is well you should speedily know that your hand- 
maiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter of that Isaac of York, to 
whom you were so lately a good and kind lord. It well be- 
comes him, and those of his household, to render to you such 
30 careful tendance as your present state necessarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been alto- 
gether satisfied with the species of emotion with which her 
devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the beautiful features, 
and fair form, and lustrous eyes, of the lovely Rebecca; eyes 
35 whose brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by 
the fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which a minstrel 
would have compared to the evening star darting its rays 
through a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too good a 
Catholic to retain the same class of feelings towards a Jewess. 


IVANHOE. 


271 


This Rebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose she had 
hastened to mention her father’s name and lineage ; yet — for 
the fair and wise daughter of Isaac was not without a touch 
of female weakness — she could not but sigh internally when 
the glance of respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed 
with tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded 
his unknown benefactress, was exchanged at once for a man- 
ner cold, composed, and collected, and fraught with no deeper 
feeling than that which expressed a grateful sense of courtesy 
received from an unexpected quarter, and from one of an 
inferior race. It was not that Ivanhoe’s former . carriage ex- 
pressed more than that general devotional homage which 
youth always pays to beauty ; yet it was mortifjung that one 
word should operate as a spell to remove poor Rebecca, who 
could not be supposed altogether ignorant of her title to such 
homage, into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honor- 
ably rendered. 

But the gentleness and candor of Rebecca’s nature imputed 
no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal prejudices of 
his age and religion. On the contrary, the fair Jewess, though 
sensible her patient now regarded her as one of a race of rep- 
robation, with whom it was disgraceful to hold any beyond the 
most necessary intercourse, ceased not to pay the same patient 
and devoted attention to his safety and convalescence. She 
informed him of the necessity they were under of removing to 
York, and of her father’s resolution to transport him thither, 
and tend him in his own house until his health should be re- 
stored. Ivanhoe expressed great -repugnance to this plan, 
which he grounded on unwillingness to give farther trouble to 
his benefactors. 

‘‘Was there not,” he said, “in Ashby, or near it, some 
Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who would en- 
dure the burden of a wounded countryman’s residence with 
him until he should be again able to bear his armor ? — Was 
there no convent of Saxon endowment, where he could be re- 
ceived ? — Or could he not be transported as far as Burton, 
where he was sure to find hospitality with Waltheoff, the 
Abbot of St. Withold’s, to whom he was related ? ” 

“ Any, the worst of these harborages,” said Rebecca, with a 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


272 


IVANHOE. 


melancholy smile, “would unquestionably be more fitting for 
your residence than the abode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir 
Knight, unless you would dismiss your physician, you cannot 
change your lodging. Our nation, as you well know, can cure 
5 wounds, though we deal not in inflicting them ; and in our owm 
family, in particular, are secrets which have been handed down 
since the days of Solomon, and of which you have already ex- 
perienced the advantages. No Nazarene — I crave your for- 
giveness, Sir Knight — no Christian leech, within the four seas of 
Britain, could enable you to bear your corselet within a month.” 

“And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it ?” said 
Ivanhoe, impatiently. ' 

“ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and comformable 
to my directions,” replied Rebecca. 

15 “ By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “ if it be not a sin to 

name her here, it is no time for me or any true knight to be 
bedridden; and if thou accomplish thy promise, maiden, I 
will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, come by them as 
I may.” 

20 u j accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca, “and thou ' 
shalt bear thine armor on the eighth day from hence, if thou • 
wilt grant me but one boon in the stead of the silver thou dost ^ 
promise me.” 

“ If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian 

25 knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied Ivanhoe, “I 
will grant thy boon blithely and thankfully.” ' 

“ Nay,” answered Rebecca, “ I will but pray of thee to be- : 
lieve henceforward that a Jew may do good service to a Chris- 
tian, without desiring other guerdon than the blessing of the ; 
Great Father who made both Jew and Gentile.” 

“ It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe; “ and 1 
repose myself on thy skill without further scruple or question, 
well trusting you will enable me to bear my corselet on the 
eighth day. And now, my kind leech, let me inquire the 
news abroad. — What of the noble Saxon Cedric and his house- ’ 
hold ?— what of the lovely Lady ”— He stopped, as if unwilling 1 
to speak Rowena’s name in the house of a Jew — “ Of her, 1 1 
mean, who was named Queen of the tournament ? ” I 

“And who was selected by you. Sir Knight, to hold that | 


IVANHOE. 273 

dignity, with judgment which was admired as much as your 
valor,” replied Kebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a flush 
from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incautiously be- 
trayed his deep interest in Kowena by the awkward attempt 5 
he had made to conceal it. 

“It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “than of 
Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of a faithful 
squire, and why he now attends me not.” 

“ Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered Eebecca, 10 
“and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agitating reflec- 
tions, whilst I apprise you of what you desire to know. Prince 
John hath broken off the tournament, and set forward in all 
haste towards York, with the nobles, knights, and churchmen 
of his party, after collecting such sums as they could wring, 15 
by fair means or foul, from those who are esteemed the wealthy 
of the land. It is said he designs to assume his brother’s crown. ” 

“Not without a blow struck in its defense,” said Ivanhoe, 
raising himself upon the couch, “ if there were but one true 
subject in England. I will flght for Richard’s title with the 20 
best of them — ay, one or two, in his just quarrel! ” 

“But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca, touch- 
ing his shoulder with her hand, “you must now observe my 
directions, and remain quiet.” 

“True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “as qui^t as these disquieted 25 
times will permit. — And of Cedric and his household? ” 

“ His steward came but brief while since,” said the Jewess, 

‘ ‘ panting with haste, to ask my father for certain moneys, the 
price of wool the growth of Cedric’s flocks, and from him I 
learned that Cedric and Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left 30 
Prince John’s lodging in high displeasure, and were about to 
set forth on their return homeward.” 

“ Went any lady with them to the banquet ? ” said Wilfred. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said Rebecca, answering the question 
with more precision than it had been asked — “The Lady 35 
Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, as the steward 
reported to us, she is now on her journey back to Rotherwood, 
with her guardian Cedric. And touching your faithful squire 
Garth—” 

18 


274 


IVANHOE. 


“ Ha! ” exclaimed the knight, ‘‘ knowest thou his name ? — 
But thou dost,” he immediately added, “ and well thou mayst, 
for it was from thy hand, and, as I am now convinced, from 
thine own generosity of spirit, that he received but yesterday 
5 a hundred zecchins.” 

“ Speak not of that,” said Kebecca, blushing deeply; “ I see 
how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the heart would 
gladly conceal.” 

“ But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, “my honor 
10 is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 

“ Let it be as thou wilt,” said Rebecca, “ when eight days 
have passed away; but think not, and speak not now, of 
aught that may retard thy recovery.” 

“Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe; “I were most un- 
15 grateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of the fate 
of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning thee.” 

“ I grieve to tell thee. Sir Knight,” answered the Jewess, 
“that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.” — And then, 
observing the distress which her communication gave to W il- 
20 fred, she instantly added, “ But the steward Oswald said, that 
if nothing occurred to renew his master’s displeasure against 
him, he was sure that Cedric w’ould pardon Gurtli, a faithful 
serf, and one who stood high in favor, and who had but com- 
mitted this error out of the love which he bore to Cedric’s son. 
25 And he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and especi- 
ally Wamba the Jester, were resolved to warn Gurth to make 
his escape by the way, in case Cedric’s ire against him could 
not be mitigated.” 

“ Would to God they may keep tlieir purpose! ” said Ivan- 
30 hoe; “ but it seems as if I were destined to bring ruin on whom- 
soever hath shown kindness to me. My king, by whom I was 
honored and distinguished, thou seest that the brother most 
indebted to him is raising his arms to grasp his crown; — my 
regard hath brought restraint and trouble on the fairest of her 
35 sex; — and now my father in his mood may slay this poor 
bondsman, but for his love and loyal service to me! — Thou 
seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dost labor to as- 
sist; be wise, and let me go, ere the misfortunes which track my 
footsteps like slot-hounds, shall involve thee also in their pursuit.” 


IVANHOE. 


275 


“Nay,” said Eebecca, “ tliy weakness and thy grief, Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. Thou 
hast been restored to thy country when it most needed the 
assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, and thou hast 
humbled the pride of thine enemies and those of thy king, 
when their horn was most highly exalted ; and for the evil 
which thou hast sustained, seest thou not that Heaven has 
raised thee a helper and a physician, even among the most 
despised of the land ? — Therefore, be of good courage, and 
trust that thou art preserved for some marvel which thine 
arm shall work before this people. Adieu — and having taken 
the medicine which I shall send thee by the hand of Eeuben, 
compose thyself again to rest, that thou mayest be the more 
able to endure the journey on the succeeding day.” 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed the 
directions of Eebecca. The draught which Eeuben adminis- 
tered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and secured the 
patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In the morning his 
kind physician found him entirely free from feverish symp- 
toms and fit to undergo the fatigue of a journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought him 
from the lists, and every precaution taken for his traveling 
with ease. In one circumstance only even the entreaties of 
Eebecca were unable to secure sufficient attention to the accom- 
modation of the wounded knight. Isaac, like the enriched 
traveler of Juvenal’s tenth satire, had ever the fear of robbery 
before his eyes, conscious that he would be alike accounted fair 
game by the marauding Norman noble, and by the Saxon out- 
law. He therefore journeyed at a great rate, and made short 
halts, and shorter repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and 
Athelstane, who had several hours the start of him, but who 
had been delayed by their protracted feasting at the convent 
of Saint Withold’s. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam’s bal- 
sam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe’s constitution, that he did 
not sustain from the hurried journey that inconvenience which 
his kind physician had apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste proved 
somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity with which he 
insisted on traveling, bred several disputes between him and 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

85 


276 


IVANHOE. 


the party whom he had hired to attend him as a guard. These 
men were Saxons, and not free by any mc^ans from the national 
love of ease and good living which the Normans stigmatized as 
laziness and gluttony. Reversing Shylock’s position, they had 
5 accepted the employment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy 
Jew, and were very much displeased when they found them- 
selves disappointed, by the rapidity wuth which he insisted on 
their proceeding. They remonstrated also upon the risk of 
damage to their horses by these forced marches. Finally, there 
to arose betwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud, concerning 
the quantity of wine and ale to be allovred for consumption at 
each meal. And thus it happened, that when the alarm of 
danger approached, and that which Isaac feared was likely to 
come upon him, he was deserted by the discontented mercena- 
15 ries on whose protection he had relied, without using the means 
necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition the Jew, wuth his daughter and 
his wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as has already been 
noticed, and soon afterwards fell into the power of De Bracy 
20 and his confederates. Little notice was at first taken of the 
horse-litter, and it might have remained behind but for the 
curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it under the impression 
that it might contain the object of his enterprise, for Rowena 
had not unveiled herself. But De Bracy ’s astonishment was 
25 considerable, when he discovered that the litter contained a 
wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have fallen into the 
power of Saxon outlaws, with whom his name might be a pro- 
tection for himself and his friends, frankly avowed himself to 
be Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

30 The ideas of chivalrous honor, which, amidst his wildness 
and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, prohibited him 
from doing the knight any injury in his defenseless condition, 
and equally interdicted his betraying him to Front-de-Boeuf, 
who would have had no scruples to put to death, under any cir- 
35 cumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of Ivanhoe. On the 
other hand, to liberate a suitor preferred by the Lady Rowena, 
as the events of the tournament, and indeed Wilfred’s previous 
banishment from his father’s house, had made matter of noto- 
riet}", was a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy’s generosity. 


IVANHOE. 


277 


A middle course betwixt good and evil was all which he found 
himself capable of adopting, and he commanded two of his 
own squires to keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one to 
approach it. If questioned, they were directed by their master 
to say, that the empty litter of the Lady Rowena was employed 
to transport one of their comrades who had been wounded 
in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight 
Templar and the lord of that castle were each intent upon their 
own schemes, the one on the Jew’s treasure, and the other on 
his daughter, De Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under 
the name of a wounded comrade, to a distant apartment. This 
explanation was accordingly returned by these men to Front- 
de-Boeuf , when he questioned them why they did not make for 
the battlements upon the alarm. 

“ A wounded companion ! ” he replied in great wrath and 
astonishment. ‘ ‘ No wonder that churls and yeomen wax so 
presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before castles, and that 
clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles, since men-at- 
arms have turned sick men’s nurses, and Free Companions are 
grown keepers of dying folk’s curtains, when the castle is about 
to be assailed. — To the battlements, ye loitering villains! ” he 
exclaimed, raising his stentorian voice till the arches around 
rung again, ‘ ‘ to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones 
with this truncheon ! ” 

The men sulkily replied, “ that they desired nothing better 
than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de-Boeuf would 
bear them out with their master, who had commanded them 
to tend the dying man.” 

“The dying man, knaves I ” rejoined the Baron ; “ I promise 
thee we shall all be dying men an we stand not to it the more 
stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon this caitiff compan- 
ion of yours. — Here, Urfried — hag — fiend of a Saxon witch — 
hearest me not ? — tend me this bedridden fellow, since he must 
needs be tended, whilst these knaves use their weapons. — Here 
be two arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrells — to 
the barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt through a 
Saxon brain.” 

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of 
enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


278 


IVANHOE. 


danger as they were commanded, and thus the charge of Ivan- 
hoe was transferred to Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose 
brain was burning with remembrance of injuries and with hopes 
of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca 
5 the care of her patient. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier, 

Look on the field, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A MOMENT of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted ' 
kindness and affection. We are thrown off our guard by the 
general agitation of our feelings, and betray the intensity of 
those which, at more tranquil periods, our prudence at least 
10 conceals, if it cannot altogether suppress them . In finding her- 
self once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished 
at the keen sensation of pleasure which she experienced, even 
at a time when all around them both was danger, if not despair. 
As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, there was a 
15 softness in her touch and in her accents, implying a kinder 
interest than she would herself have been pleased to have vol- 
untarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, 
and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, “ Is it you, gentle 
maiden ? ” which recalled her to herself, and reminded her the 
20 sensations which she felt were not and could not be mutual. 
A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible ; and the questions 
which she asked the knight concerning his state of health were 
j)ut in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her 
hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and better than 
25 he could have expected — “ Thanks,” he said, “ dear Rebecca, 
to thy helpful skill.” 

“He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to herself, 

“ but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. 
His war-horse — his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the 
30 despised Jewess ! ” 

“ My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is more 
disturbed by anxiety, than my body with pain. From the 
speeches of these men w^ho were my warders just now, I learn ^ 


IVANHOE. 


279 


that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse 
voice which even now dispatched them hence on some military 
duty, I am in the castle of Front de-Boeuf. If so, how will this 
end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father ? ” 

“ He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca, internally ; 5 
“ yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished 
by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him ! ” She 
hastened after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what 
information she could ; but it amounted only to this, that the 
Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron Front- de-Boeuf, were iO 
commanders within the castle ; that it was beleaguered from 
without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that there 
was a Christian priest within the castle who might be possessed 
of more information. 

“ A Christian priest ! ” said the knight, joyfully ; “ fetch him 15 
hither, Rebecca, if thou canst — say a sick man desires his 
ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring him — some- 
thing I must do or attempt, but how can I determine until I 
know how matters stand without ? ” 

Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made 20 
that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded knight’s cham- 
ber, which was defeated as we have already seen by the inter- 
ference of Urfried, who had been also on the watch to inter- 
cept the supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate to 
Ivanhoe the result of her errand. 25 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this source 
of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might be sup- 
plied ; for the noise within the castle, occasioned by the defen- 
sive preparations which had been considerable for some time, 
now increased into tenfold bustle and clamor. The heavy, yet 30 
hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed the battlements, or 
resounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs 
which led to the various bartizans and points of defense. The 
voices of the knights were heard, animating their followers, 
or directing means of defense, while their commands were 35 
often drowned in the clashing of armor, or the clamorous 
shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as^ these 
sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which 
they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them, which 


280 


IVANHOE. 


Rebecca’s high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of 
terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her 
cheeks ; and there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a thrill- 
ing sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half whispering to 
5 herself, half speaking to her companion, the sacred text, — 
“The quiver rattleth — the glittering spear and the shield — 
the noise of the captains and the shouting ! ” 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, 
glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent 
10 desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds were the 
introduction. “If I could but drag myself,” he said, “to 
yonder window, that I might see how this brave game is like 
to go — If I had bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-ax to strike 
were it but a single blow for our deliverance ! — It is in vain — 
15 it is in vain — I am alike nerveless and weaponless ! ” 

“ Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, “the 
sounds have ceased of a sudden — it may be they join not 
battle.” 

“Thou knowest naught of it,” said Wilfred, impatiently; 
20 “this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts 
on the walls, and expecting an instant attack ; what we have 
heard was but the distant muttering of the storm — it will burst 
anon in all its fury. — Could I but reach yonder window ! ” 

“ Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,” 
25 replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she 
firmly added, “ I myself will stand at the lattice, and describe 
to you as I can what passes without.” 

“You must not — you shall not ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “ each 
lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; 
30 some random shaft — ” 

“ It shall be welcome !” murmured Rebecca, as with Arm 
pace she ascended two or three steps, vrhich led to the window 
of which they spoke. 

“ Rebecca, dear Rebecca ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is no 
35 maiden’s pastime — do not expose thyself to wounds and death, 
and render me forever miserable for having given the occasion ; 
at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show 
as little of your person at the lattice as may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of 


IVANHOE. 


281 


Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protectiop^ of the large 
ancient shield, which she placed against the lo/ver part of the 
window, Eebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could wit- 
ness part of what was passing without the castle, and report to 
Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making for 5 
the storm. Indeed, the situation which she thus obtained was 
peculiarly favorable for this purpose, because, being placed 
on an angle of the main building, Eebecca could not only see 
what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also com- 
manded a view of the outwork likely to be the first object of 
the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortification of no 
great height or strength, intended to protect the postem-gate, 
through which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front- 
de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of barbican 
from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, 
it was easy to cut off the communication with the main build- 
ing, by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork 
was a sallyport corresponding to the postern of the castle, and 
the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. Eebecca could 
observe, from the number of men placed for the defense of 2 q 
this post, that the besieged entertained apprehensions for its 
safety ; and from the mustering of the assailants in a direc- 
tion nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no less plain 
that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, 05 
and added, “The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, 
although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.” 

“ Under what banner ?” asked Ivanhoe. 

“Under no ensign of war which lean observe,” answered 
Eebecca. 3 q 

“ A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to advance to 
storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed ! — 
Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ? ” 

“A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicuous,” 
said the Jewess; “ he alone is armed from head to heel, and 3- 
iseems to assume the direction of all around him.” 

“ What device does he bear on his shield ? ” replied Ivanhoe. 

“ Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted 
t)lue on the black shield.” 


282 


I VAN HOE. 


“A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure,” said Ivanhoe; “I 
know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might 
now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto ? ” 

“ Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied Rebecca; 

5 “ but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I 
tell you.” 

‘ ‘ Seem there no other leaders ? ” exclaimed the anxious 
inquirer. 

“None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this 
1C station,” said Rebecca; “but, doubtless, the other side of the 
castle is also assailed. They appear even now preparing to 
advance — God of Zion, protect us ! — What a dreadful sight ! 
— Those who advance first bear huge shields and defenses made 
of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they come 
15 on. — They raise their bows I — God of Moses, forgive the crea- 
tures thou hast made ! ” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal 
for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and 
at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from 
20 the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow 
clang of the nakers, (a species of kettle-drum,) retorted in notes 
of defiance the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both 
parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, 
“Saint George for merry England ! ’’ and the Normans an- 
25 swering them with loud cries of ‘^Erf' Mant JDe Bracy ! — 
Beauseant ! — Beauseant ! — Front-de-Boeuf d la rescousse ! ” ac- 
cording to the war-cries of their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be 
decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met 
30 by an equally vigorous defense on the part of the besieged. 
The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most 
effective use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate 
phrase of the time, so “wholly together,” that no point at 
which a defender could show the least part of his person, es- 
35 caped tlieir cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which 
continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, 
every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together 
against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well 
as at every window where a defender either occasionally had 


lYANHOE. 


283 


post, or might be suspected to be stationed, — by this sustained 
discharge, two or three of the garrison were slain, and several 
others wounded. But, confident in their armor of proof, and 
in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of 
Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defense 
proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with the 
discharge of their large crossbows, as well as with their long- 
bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and con- 
tinued shower of arrows; and, as the assailants were neces- 
sarily but indifferently protected, did considerably more damage 
than they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and 
of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the shouts 
which arose when either side infiicted or sustained some notable 
loss. 

‘ And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” exclaimed 
^Ivanhoe, ‘ ‘ while the game that gives me freedom or death is 
played put by the hand of others ! — Look from the window 
once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked 
by the archers beneath — look out once more, and tell me if 
they yet advance to the storm.” 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which 
she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post 
at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be 
visible from beneath. 

“What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

“Nothing but the cloud of arrows fiying so thick as to dazzle 
mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.” 

“That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe ; “if they press not 
right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery 
may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look 
for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he 
bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be.” 

“ I see him not,” said Rebecca. 

“Foul craven! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “ does he blench from 
the helm when the wind blows highest ? ” 

“ He blenches not! he blenches not! ” said Rebecca, “ I see 
him now ; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier 
of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades ; 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


284 


IVANHOE. 


they hew down the barriers with axes. — His high black plume 
floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the 
slain. — They have made a breach in the barriers— they rush 
in— they are thrust back !— Front-de-Boeuf heads the defend- 
5 ers ; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng 
again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, 
and man to man. God of Jacob ! it is the meeting of two fierce 
tides— the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds.” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to 
10 endure a sight so terrible. 

“Look forth again, Eebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking the 
cause of her retiring; “the archery must in some degree have 
ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand.— Look again, 
there is now less danger.” 

15 Eebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately ex- 
claimed, “ Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the 
Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar 
of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife — 
Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the cap- 
20 tive ! ” She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, “ He 
is down ! — he is down ! ” 

“ Who is down ? ” cried Ivanhoe; “ for our dear Lady’s sake, 
tell me which has fallen ? ” 

“The Black Knight,” answered Eebecca, faintly; then in- 
25 stantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — “But no— but 
no 1- the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed !— he is on foot 
again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s strength in his 
single arm.— His sword is broken— he snatches an ax from a 
yeoman— he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow.— The 
80 giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the wood 
man— he falls— he falls ! ” 

“Front-de-Boeuf ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“ Front-de-Boeuf ! ” answered the Jewess; “ his men rush to 
the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar— their united force 
85 compels the champion to pause— they drag Front-de-Boeuf 
within the walls.” 

“ The assailants have won the barriers, have they not ? ” said 
Jvanhoe. 

“They have— they have!” exclaimed Eebecca— “and they 


IVANHOE. 


235 


press the besieged hard upon the outer wall ; some plant lad- 
ders, some swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the 
shoulders of each other— down go stones, beams, and trunks 
of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded 
to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault. — 
Great God ! has thou given men thine own image, that it 
should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren ! ” 
“Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no time for 
such thoughts. — Who yield ? — who push their way ? ” 

“ The ladders are thrown down,” replied Eebecca, shudder- 
ing; “ the soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed rep- 
tiles.— The besieged have the better.” 

“Saint George strike for us!” exclaimed the knight; “do 
the false yeomen give way ? ” 

“No!” exclaimed Eebecca, “they bear themselves right 
yeomanly — the Black Knight approaches the postern with his 
huge ax— the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear 
them above all the din and shouts of the battle. — Stones and 
beams are hailed down on the bold champion— he regards them 
no more than if they were thistledown or feathers! ” 

“ By Saint John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising himself joy- 
fully on his couch, “ methought there was but one man in 
England that might do such a deed ! ” 

“ The postern gate shakes,” continued Eebecca; “ it crashes 
— it is splintered by his blows — they rush in — the outwork 
is V7on — Oh, God ! — they hurl the defenders from the battle- 
ments — they throw them into the moat — O men, if ye be in- 
deed men, spare them that can resist no longer! ” 

“The bridge — the bridge which communicates with the 
castle — have they won that pass?” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“No,” replied Eebecca, “the Templar has destroyed the 
plank on which they crossed — few of the defenders escaped 
with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries which you hear 
tell the fate of the others — Alas! — I see it is still more difficult 
to look upon victory than upon battle.” 

“What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe; “look forth 
yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed.” 

“It is over for the time,” answered Eebecca; “ our friends 
strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


286 


IVANHOE. 


mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foe- 
men’s shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on 
it from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than 
effectually to injure them.” 

5 Our friends,” said Wilfred, “ will surely not abandon an 
enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. — Ono! 
I will put my faith in the good knight w^hose ax hath rent 
heart-of-oak and bars of iron. — Singular,” he again muttered 
to himself, ‘ ‘ if there be two who can do a deed of such derr- 
iO ing-do ! — a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on a field sable — what 
may that mean? — seest thou naught else, Kebecca, by which 
the Black Knight may be distinguished?” 

“Nothing,” said the Jewess; “all about him is black as 
the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can 
15 mark him further — but having once seen him put forth his 
strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a 
thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were sum- 
moned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength, there 
seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were 
20 given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God 
assoilzie him of the sin of bloodshed ! — it is fearful, yet mag- 
nificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one man can 
triumph over hundreds.” 

“Eebecca,” saidivanhoe, “ thou hast painted a hero ; surely 
25 they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of 
crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken 
this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded 
delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize ; since the difficulties 
which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by 
80 the honor of my house — I vow by the name of my bright lady- 
love, I would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by 
that good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this ! ” 

“ Alas ! ” said Eebecca, leaving her station at the window, 
and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, “ this im- 
35 patient yearning after action — this struggling with and repining 
at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your return- 
ing health. How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, 
ere that be healed which thou thyself hast received C” 

' “ Eebecca,, ” he replied, “thou knowest not how impossible 


IVANHOE. 


287 


it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as 
a priest, or a woman, when they are ^acting deeds of honor 
around him. The love of battle is the food upon which we 
live — the dust of the melee is the breath of our nostrils! We 
live not — we wish not to live — longer than while we are 5 
victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of 
chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that 
we hold dear.” 

“Alas! ’’said the fair Jewess, “and what is it, valiant 
knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, 10 
and a passing through the fire to Moloch I — What remains to 
you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled — of all the 
travail and pain you have endured — of all the tears which your 
deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong man’s 
spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse? ” 15 

“What remains ? ” cried Ivanhoe. “ Glory, maiden, glory! 
which gilds our sepulcher and embalms our name.” 

‘ ‘ Glory ? ” continued Rebecca ; ‘ ‘ alas, is the rusted mail which 
hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s dim and molder- 
ing tomb — is the defaced sculpture of the inscription which 20 
the .ignorant monk can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim 
— are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly 
affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make others 
miserable ? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a 
wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace 25 
and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of 
those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls 
over their evening ale ? ” 

“ By the soul of Hereward ! ” replied the knight impatiently, 
“thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou 30 
wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, which alone distin- 
guishes the noble from the base, the gentle knight from the 
churl and the savage ; which rates our life far, far beneath the 
pitch of our honor; raises us victorious over pain, toil, and 
suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou 35 
art no Christian, Rebecca ; and to thee are unknown those 
high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when 
her lover hath done some deed of emprize which sanctions his 
flame. Chivalry ! — why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and 


288 


IVANHOE. 


high affection — the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of 
grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant. Nobility 
were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the 
best protection in her lance and her sword.” 

5 “I am, indeed,” said Eebecca, “sprung from a race whose 
courage was distinguished in the defense of their own land, but 
who warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the command 
of the Deity, or in defending their country from oppression. 
The sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and her de- 
10 spised children are now but the unresisting victims of hostile 
and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken. Sir Knight, 
— until the God of Jacob shall raise up for his chosen people a 
second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish 
damsel to speak of battle or of war.” 

15 The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone 
of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the degradation 
of her people, embittered perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe 
considered her as one not entitled to interfere in a case of 
honor, and incapable of entertaining or expressing sentiments 
20 of honor and generosity. 

“ How little he knows this bosom,” she said, “to imagine 
that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, 
because I have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Naza- 
renes ! Would to heaven that the shedding of mine own blood, 
25 drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah I Nay, 
would to God it could avail to set free my father, and this his 
benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The proud 
Christian should then see whether the daughter of God’s cho- 
sen people dared not to die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene 
30 maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty chieftain of 
the rude and frozen north ! ” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded knight. 

“ He sleeps,” she said; “nature exhausted by sufferance and 
the waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first mo- 
35 ment of temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas ! is it 
a crime that I should look upon him, when it may be for the 
last time ? — When yet but a short space, and those fair fea- 
tures will be no longer animated by the bold and buoyant 
spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep ! — When the nos- 


IVANHOE. 


289 


tril shall be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and 
bloodshot ; and when the proud and noble knight may be 
trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed castle, yet stir 
not when the heel is lifted up against him ! And my father ! 

— oh, my father ! evil is it with his daughter, when his gray 5 
hairs are not remembered because of the golden locks of youth ! 

— What know I but that these evils are the messengers of 
^^ehovah’s wrath to the unnatural child, who thinks of a 
stranger’s captivity before a parent’s ? who forgets the deso- 
lation of Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile 1C 
and a stranger ? — But I will tear this folly from my heart, 
though every fiber bleed as I rend it away ! ” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a 
distance from the couch of the wounded knight, with her back 
turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavoring to fortify her 15 
mind, not only against the impending evils from without, but 
also against those treacherous feelings which assailed her from 
within. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew, 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears i— » 

Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success 
of the besiegers, while the one party was preparing to pursue 20 
their advantage, and the other to strengthen their means of 
defense, the Templar and De Bracy held brief counsel together 
in the hall of the castle. 

‘‘ Where is Front-de-Boeuf ? ” said the latter, who had super- 
intended the defense of the fortress on the other side ; “mea25 
say he hath been slain.” 

“ He lives,” said the Templar, coolly, ‘'lives as yet ; but had 
he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the name, and ten 
plates of iron to fence it withal, he must have gone down befoi*e 
yonder fatal ax. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is witiiSQ 
^9 


290 


IVANHOE. 


his fathers — a powerful limb lopped off Prince John’s enter- 
prise. ” 

“ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” said De 
Bracy ; “ this comes of reviling saints and angels, and ordering 
5 images of holy things and holy men to be flung down on the 
heads of these rascaille yeomen.” 

“ Go to — thou art a fool,” said the Templar ; “ thy supersti- 
tion is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf ’s want of faith ; neither 
of you can render a reason for your belief or unbelief.” 
to “ Benedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “ I pray you 
to keep better rule with your tongue when I am the theme of it. 
By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better Christian man than 
thou and thy fellowship ; for the bruit goeth shrewdly out, that 
the most holy Order of the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few 
15 heretics within its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
is of the number.” 

“ Care not thou for such reports,” said the Templar; “but 
let us think of making good the castle. — How fought these 
villain yeomen on thy side ? ” 

20 “ Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy. “They swarmed 

close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who won 
the prize at the archery, for I knew his horn and baldric. And 
this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, encouraging these malapert 
knaves to rebel against us ! Had I not been armed in proof, 
25 the villain had marked me down seven times with as little re- 
morse as if I had been a buck in season. He tore every rivet 
on my armor with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against my 
ribs with as little compunction as if my bones had been of iron. 
But that I wore a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, 
30 I had been fairly sped.” 

“ But you maintained your post ? ” said the Templar. “We 
lost the outwork on our part.” 

“ That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy ; “ the knaves will 
find cover there to assault the castle more closely, and may, if 
35 not well watched, gain some unguarded corner of a tower, or 
some forgotten window, and so break in upon us. Our numbers 
are too few for the defense of every point, and the men com- 
plain that they can nowhere show themselves, but they are the 
mark for as many arrows as a parish-butt on a holyday even. 


IVANHOE. 


291 


Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so we shall receive no more aid 
from his bull’s head and brutal strength. How think you, Sir 
Brian, were we not better make a virtue of necessity, and com- 
pound with the rogues by delivering up our prisoners ? ” 

“ How ? ” exclaimed the Templar ; “ deliver up our prisoners, 
and stand an object alike of ridicule and execration, as the 
doughty warriors who dared by a night-attack to possess them- 
selves of the persons of a party of defenseless travelers, yet 
could not make good a strong castle against a vagabond troop 
of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, and the very refuse of 
mankind? — Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy! — The 
ruins of this castle shall bury both my body and my shame, 
ere I consent to such base and dishonorable composition.” 

“ Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, carelessly; “ that 
man never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who held life at 
lighter rate than I do. But I trust there is no dishonor in 
wishing I had here some two scores of my gallant troop of Free 
Companions ? — Oh, my brave lances ! if ye knew but how hard 
your captain were this day bested^ how soon should I see my 
banner at the head of your clump of spears ! And how short 
while would these rabble villains stand to endure your en- 
counter ! ” 

“ Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “ but let us 
make what defense we can with the soldiers who remain. They 
are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf ’s followers, hated by the English for 
a thousand acts of insolence and oppression.” 

‘ ‘ The better, ” said De Bracy ; ‘ ‘ the rugged slaves will defend 
themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere they encounter 
the revenge of the peasants without. Let us up and be doing, 
then, Bria.n de Bois-Guilbert ; and, live or die, thou shalt see 
Maurice De 'Bracy bear himself this day as a gentleman of 
blood and lineage.” 

“To the walls!” answered the Templar; and they both 
ascended the battlements to do all that skill could dictate, and 
manhood accomplish, in defense of the place. They readily 
agreed that the point of greatest danger w^as that opposite to 
the outwork of which the assailants had possessed themselves. 
The castle, indeed, was divided from the barbican by the moat, 
and it was impossible that the besiegers could assail the postern- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


292 


IVANHOE. 


door, with which the outwork corresponded, without surmount- 
ing that obstacle; but it was the opinion both of the Templar 
and De Bracy, that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy 
their leader had already displayed, would endeavor, by a for- 
5 midable assault, to draw the chief part of the defenders’ obser- 
vation to this point, and take measures to avail themselves of 
every negligence which might take place in the defense else- 
where. To guard against such an evil, their numbers only per- 
mitted the knights to place sentinels from space to space along 
10 the walls in communication with each other, who might give 
the alarm whenever danger was threatened. Meanwhile, they 
agreed that De Bracy should command the defense at the 
postern, and the Templar should keep with him a score of 
men or thereabouts as a body of reserve, ready to hasten to any 
15 other point which might be suddenly threatened. The loss of 
the barbican had also this unfortunate effect, that, notwith- 
standing the superior height of the castle walls, the besieged 
could not see from them, with the same precision as before, 
the operations of the enemy; for some straggling underwood 
20 approached so near the sallyport of the outwork, that the assail- 
ants might introduce into it whatever force they thought 
proper, not only under cover, but even without the knowledge 
of the defenders. Utterly uncertain, therefore, upon what 
point the storm was to burst, De Bracy and his companion 
25 were under the necessity of providing against every possible 
contingency, and their followers, however brave, experienced 
the anxious dejection of mind incident to men inclosed b}' 
enemies, who possessed the power of choosing their time and 
mode of attack. 

30 Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered castle 
lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. He had not 
the usual resource of bigots in that superstitious period, most 
of whom were wont to atone for the crimes they were guilty of 
by liberality to the church, stupefying by this means their 
35 terrors by the idea of atonement and forgiveness; and although 
the refuge which success thus purchased, was no more like to 
the peace of mind which follows on sincere repentance, than 
the turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembles healthy 
and natural slumbers, it was still a state of mind preferable to 


IVANHOE. 


293 


the agonies of awakened remorse. But among the vices of 
Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and griping man, avarice was predomi- 
nant; and he preferred setting church and churchmen at de- 
fiance, to purchasing from them pardon and absolution at the 
price of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, an in- 
fidel of another stamp, justly characterize his associate, when 
he said Front-de-Boeuf could assign no cause for his unbelief 
and contempt for the established faith ; for the Baron would 
have alleged that the Church sold her wares too dear, that the 
spiritual freedom which she put up to sale was only to be 
bought like that of the chief captain of Jerusalem, ‘‘with a 
great sum,” and Front-de-Boeuf preferred denying the virtue 
of the medicine, to paying the expense of the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his 
treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when the 
savage Baron’s heart, though hard as a nether millstone, be- 
came appalled as he gazed forward into the waste darkness of 
futurity. The fever of his body aided the impatience and agony 
of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixture of the newly 
awakened feelings of horror, combating with the fixed and 
inveterate obstinacy of his disposition; — a fearful state of 
mind, only to be equaled in those tremendous regions, where 
there are complaints without hope, remorse without repentance, 
a dreadful sense of present agony, and a presentiment that it 
cannot cease or be diminished ! 

“Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the Baron, “who 
set such price on their ghostly mummery ? — where be all those 
unshod Carmelites, for whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the 
convent of St. Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood of 
meadow, and many a fat field and close — where be the greedy 
hounds now ? — Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or playing 
their juggling tricks at the bedside of some miserly churl. — Me, 
the heir of their founder — me, whom their foundation binds 
them to pray for — me — ungrateful villains as they are ! — they 
suffer to die like the houseless dog on yonder common, un- 
shriven and unhouseled ! — Tell the Templar to come hither — he 
is a priest, and may do something. But no ! — as well confess 
myself to the devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who recks 
neither of heaven nor of hell. — I have heard old men talk of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


294 


IVANHOE. 


prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not to court or 
to bribe the false priest. But I — I dare not! ” 

“Lives Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf/’ said a broken and shrill 
voice close by his bedside, “ to say there is that which he dares 
5 not ! ” 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Boeuf 
heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, the voice of 
one of those demons, who, as the superstition of the times be- 
lieved, beset the beds of dying men, to distract their thoughts, 
10 and turn them from the meditations which concerned their 
eternal welfare. He shuddered and drew himself together ; but, 
instantly summoning up his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, 
“ Who is there ? — what art thou, that darestto echo my words 
in a tone like that of the night-raven ?— Come before my couch 
15 that I may see thee.” 

“ I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” replied 
the voice. 

“ Let me behold thee, then, in thy bodily shape, if thou be’st 
indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight; “ think not that I 
20 will blench from thee. — By the eternal dungeon, could I but 
grapple with these horrors that hover round me, as I have done 
with mortal dangers, heaven or hell should never say that I 
shrunk from the conflict ! ” 

“Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said the al- 
25 most unearthly voice, “ on rebellion, on rapine, on murder ! — 
Who stirred up the licentious John to war against his gray- 
headed father — against his generous brother ? ” 

“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, 
“thou liest in thy throat ! — Not I stirred John to rebellion — 
30 not I alone — there were fifty knights and barons, the flower of 
the midland counties — better men never laid lance in rest.— 
And must I answer for the fault done by fifty ? — False fiend, 
I defy thee ! Depart, and haunt my couch no more — let me 
die in peace if thou be mortal — if thou be a demon, thy time is 
35 not yet come.” 

“ In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice ; “even 
in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on the groans which 
this castle has echoed — on the blood that is engrained in its 
floors I ” 


IVANHOE. 


295 


“ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” answered 
Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. “The 
infidel Jew — it was merit with heaven to deal with him as I 
did, else wherefore are men canonized who dip their hands 
in the blood of Saracens ? — The Saxon porkers, whom I have 5 
slain, they were the foes of my country, and of my line- 
age, and of my liege lord. — Ho ! ho ! thou seest there is no 
crevice in my coat of plate. — Art thou fled ? — art thou si- 
lenced ? ” 

“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think of thy 10 
father! — think of his death ! — think of his banquet-room 
flooded with his gore, and that poured forth by the hand of a 
son ! ” 

“ Ha ! ” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “ an thou 
knowest that, thou art indeed the author of evil, and as omni- 15 
scient as the monks call thee ! — That secret I deemed locked in 
my own breast, and in that of one besides — the temptress, the 
partaker of my guilt. — Go, leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon 
witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she and I alone 
witnessed. — Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and 20 
straighted the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward 
show of one parted in time and in the course of nature. — Goto 
her ; she was my temptress, the foul provoker, the more foul 
re warder, of the deed — let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures 
which anticipate hell ! ” 25 

“She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping before the 
couch of Front-de-Boeuf; “ she hath long drunken of this cup, 
and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that thou dost par- 
take it. — Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf — roll not thine 
eyes — clench not thy hand, nor shake it at me with that ges* 30 
ture of menace ! — The hand which, like that of thy renowned 
ancestor who gained thy name, could have broken with one 
stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and 
powerless as mine own ! ” 

“Vile murderous hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “ detest- 35 
able screech-owl ! it is then thou who art come to exult over 
the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low ? ” 

“ Ay, Eeginald Front de-Boeuf,” answered she, “ it is Ulrica! 
'—it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolf ganger ! — it 


296 


IVANHOE. 


is the sister of his slaughtered sons ! — it is she who demands of 
thee, and of thy father’s house, father and kindred, name and 
fame — all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf ! — 
Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak 
5 not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be thine 
— I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution I ” 

“ Detestable fury ! ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “that mo- 
ment shalt thou never witness — Ho ! Giles, Clement, and 
Eustace ! St. Maur, and Stephen ! seize this damned witch, 
10 and hurl her from the battlements headlong — she has betrayed 
us to the Saxon ! — Ho ! St. Maur ! Clement ! false-hearted 
knaves, where tarry ye ? ” 

“ Call on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag, with a 
smile of grisly mockery ; ‘ ‘ summon thy vassals around thee, 
15 doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon — but 
know, mighty chief,” she continued, suddenly changing her 
tone, “ thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience 
at their hands. — Listen to these horrid sounds,” for the din 
of the recommenced assault and defense now rung fearfully 
20 loud from the battlements of the castle; “in that war-cry is 
the downfall of thy house — the blood-cemented fabric of Front- 
de-Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before the foes 
he most despised ! — The Saxon, Keginald ! — the scorned Saxon 
assails thy walls ! — Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, 
25 when the Saxon storms thy place of strength ? ” 

“Gods and fiends !” exclaimed the wounded knight; “O, 
for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the melee^ and 
perish as becomes my name ! ” 

“Think not of it, valiant warrior ! ” replied she; “thou shalt 
30 die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his den, when 
the peasants have set fire to the cover around it.” 

“Hateful hag ! thou liest !” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf ; “ my 
followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong and high — 
my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Saxons, were 
35 they headed by Hengist and Horsa ! — the war-cry of the Tem- 
plar and of the Free Companions rises high over the conflict r 
And by mine honor, when we kindle the blazing beacon, for 
joy of our defense, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and 
I shall live to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to those of 


IVANHOE. 297 

that hell, which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more 
utterly diabolical ! ” 

“ Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “ till the proof reach thee. 

— But, no ! ” she said, interrupting herself, “ thou shalt know, 
even now, the doom, which all thy power, strength, and cour- 5 
age is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this fee- 
ble hand. Markest thou the smoldering and suffocating vapor 
which already eddies in sable folds through the chamber ? — 
Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy bursting 
eyes — the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing ? No ! Front- 10 
de-Boeuf, there is another cause. — Rememberest thou the 
magazine of fuel that is stored beneath these apartments ?” 

“Woman !” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not set 
fire to it ? — By heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames! ” 

“ They are fast rising, at least,” said Ulrica, with frightful 15 
composure ; ‘ ‘ and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers 
to press hard upon those who would extinguish them. — Fare- 
well, Front-de-Boeuf ! — May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, 
gods of the ancient Saxons — fiends, as the priests now call them 
— supply the place of comforters at your dying bed, which 20 
Ulrica now relinquishes I — But know, if it will give thee com- 
fort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast 
with thyself, the companion of thy punishment as the com- 
panion of thy guilt. — And now, parricide, farewell forever ! — 
May each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that 25 
title into thine ear ! ” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf could 
hear the crash of the ponderous key, as she locked and double- 
locked the door behind her, thus cutting off the most slender 
chance of escape. In the extremity of agony he shouted upon 3C 
his servants and allies — “Stephen and St. Maur! — Clement 
and Giles I — I burn here unaided! — To the rescue — to the 
rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy ? — It is Front-de- 
Boeuf who calls! — It is your master, ye traitor squires! — Your 
ally — your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights! ^ 
— all the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you 
abandon me to perish thus miserably! — They hear me not — 
they cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the din of battle. — 
The smoke rolls thicker and thicker — the fire has caught upon 


298 


IVANHOE. 


the floor below — 0, for one draught of the air of heaven, were 
it to be purchased by instant annihilation ! ” And in the mad 
frenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of 
the fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and 
5 on Heaven itself. — “The red fire flashes through the thick 
smoke ! ” he exclaimed ; ‘ ‘ the demon marches against me under 
the banner of his own element. — Foul spirit, avoid ! — I go not 
with thee without my comrades — all, all are thine, that garri- 
son these walls. — Thinkest thou Front-de-Boeuf will be singled 
10 out to go alone? — No — the infidel Templar — the licentious De 
Bracy — Ulrica, the foul murdering strumpet — the men who 
aided my enterprises — the dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who 
are my prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellowship 
as ever took the downward road.— Ha, ha, ha!” and he 
15 laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. “ Who 
laughed there ? ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, 
for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his 
own mad laughter from returning upon his ear — “ who laughed 
there ? — Ulrica, was it thou ? — Speak, witch, and I forgive thee 
30 — for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself could have laughed 
at such a moment. Avaunt — avaunt ! — ” 

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of a 
blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

And you, good yeomen. 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture— let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V, 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s message, 
25 omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black Knight 
and Locksley. They were well pleased to find they had a friend 
within the place, who might, in the moment of need, be able to 
facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the Saxon that 
a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought to^ be attempted, 


IVANHOE. 299 

as the only means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands 
of the cruel Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric. 

“ The honor of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black Knight. 

‘‘ And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” said the good 5 
yeoman, ‘ ‘ were there no other cause than the safety of that 
poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeoparda joint ere a hair 
of his head were hurt.” 

“ And so would I,” said the Friar; “ what, sirs! I trust well 
that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his 10 
guild and master of his craft, and can give as much relish and 
flavor to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can — I say, 
brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for 
or flght for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or flourish 
a partisan.” 15 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around 
his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook. 

“ True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “ true as if St. 
Dunstan himself had said it. — And now, good Locksley, were 
it not well that noble Cedric should assume the direction of this 20 
assault ? ” 

“ Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “ I have never been wont to 
study either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of 
tyrannic power, which the Normans have erected in this groan- 
ing land. I will fight among the foremost; but my honest 25 
neighbors well know I am not a trained soldier in the disci- 
pline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.” 

“ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locksley, ‘‘I 
am most willing to take on me the direction of the archery ; 
and ye shall hang me up on my own trysting-tree, an the 30 
defenders be permitted to show themselves over the walls with- 
out being stuck with as many shafts as there are cloves in a 
gammon of bacon at Christmas.” 

“ Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black Knight; 

“ and if I be thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, 35 
and can find among these brave men as many as are willing to 
follow a true English knight, for so I may surely call myself, 

I am ready, with such skill as my experience has taught me, 
to lead them to the attack of these walls.” 


300 


IVANHOE. 


The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they com' 
menced the first assault, of which the reader has already heard 
the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice 
5 of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the same 
time, to keep such a strict observation on the castle as might 
prevent the defenders from combining their force for a sudden 
sally, and recovering the outwork which they had lost. This 
the knight was chiefly desirous of avoiding, conscious that the 
10 men whom he led, being hasty and untrained volunteers, imper- 
fectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any 
sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage with the veteran 
soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well provided with 
arms both defensive and offensive; and who, to match the 
15 zeal and high spirit of the besiegers, had all the confidence 
which arises from perfect discipline and the habitual use of 
weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed 
a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he 
20 hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the 
enemy. This was a work of some time, which the leaders the 
less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of 
diversion in their favor, whatever that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed 
25 the besiegers : — “It avails not waiting here longer, my friends ; 
the sun is descending to the west — and I have that upon my 
hands which will not permit me to tarry with you another day . 
Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not upon 
us from York, unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. 
30 Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him commence 
a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and 
move forward as if about to assault it; and you, true English 
hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft endlong 
over the moat whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. 
35 Follow me boldly across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in 
the main wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this 
service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do you man the top of 
the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears, and mind 
you quell with your shot whatever shall appear to man the 


IVANHOE. 


301 


rampiart. — Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those 
which remain ? ” 

Not so, by the soul of Hereward! ” said the Saxon; “ lead 
I cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow 
not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way. The 
quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of the 
battle.” 

“ Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, “ thou 
hast neither hauberk, nor corselet, nor aught but that light 
helmet, target, and sword.” 

“ The better! ” answered Cedric; ‘‘ I shall be the lighter to 
climb these walls. And, — forgive the boast. Sir Knight, — 
thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly 
presented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel corselet of a 
Norman.” 

'‘In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “ fling open 
the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner- wall of the barbican to 
the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main 
wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened ; the temporary 
bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, 
extending its length between the castle and outwork, and 
forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men abreast 
to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking 
the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by 
Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, and reached the op- 
posite side. Here he began to thunder with his ax upon the 
gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and stones 
cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former drawbridge, 
which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from the bar- 
bican, leaving the counterpoise still attached to the upper part 
of the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; 
two were instantly shot with crossbow bolts, and two more 
fell into the moat ; the others retreated back into the barbican. 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now 
truly dangerous, and would have been still more so, but for 
the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not 
to shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the 
attention of those by whom they were manned, and thus af- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


302 


IVANHOE. 


fording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles 
which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their 
situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so 
with every moment. 

5 “Shame on ye all! ” cried De Bracy to the soldiers around 
him; “ do ye call yourselves crossbowmen, and let these two 
dogs keep their station under the walls of the castle ? — Heave 
over the coping stones from the battlement, an better may not 
be. — Get pickax and levers, and down with that huge pin- 
10 nacle 1 ” pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved- work that 
projected from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag 
upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described to 
Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was 
15 aware of it, as he was hasting to the outwork, impatient to 
see the progress of the assault. 

“ Saint George!” he cried, “Merry Saint George for Eng- 
land ! — To the charge, bold yeomen ! — why leave ye the good 
knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone ? — make in, 
20 niad priest, show thou canst fight for thy rosary, — make in, 
brave yeomen! — the castle is ours, we have friends within. 
See yonder flag ; it is the appointed signal — Torquilstone is 
ours! — Think of honor, think of spoil! — One effort, and the 
place is ours! ” 

25 With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De 
Bracy’s direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the 
embattlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the 
Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands of 
30 the dying man the iron crow, with which he heaved at and 
had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow 
through his head-piece, he dropped from the battlements into 
the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no 
arrpor seemed proof against the shot of this tremendous 
35 archer. 

“ Do you give ground, base knaves ! ” said De Bracy ; ‘ ‘ Mount 
joye Saint Denis ! — Give me the lever ! ” 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, 
which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have 


IVANHOE. 


303 


destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which slieltered the 
two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of 
planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and 
the boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot 
on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De 
Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight’s 
armor of proof. 

‘‘Curse on thy Spanish steel-coao I ” said Locksley, “had 
English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an as 
if it had been silk or sendal.” He then began to call out, 
“Comrades ! friends ! noble Cedric ! bear back, and let the 
ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight 
himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have 
drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed 
sprung forward on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his 
impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning 
would have come too late ; the massive pinnacle already tot- 
tered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have 
accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded 
close in his ears : — 

“ All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.” 

“Thou art mad to say so! ” replied the knight. 

“ It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven 
in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his char- 
acter, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intel- 
ligence, which was not so calmly received by his astonished 
comrade. 

“ Saints of Paradise ! ” said De Bracy; “ what is to be done ? 
I vow to So Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold — ” 

“ Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “ and mark me. Lead 
thy men down, as if to a sally ; throw the postern gate open — 
there are but two men who occupy the float; fling them into 
the moat, and push across for the barbican. I will charge 
from the main gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; 
and if we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend our- 
selves until we are relieved, or at least till they grant us fair 
quarter.” 


3 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


304 


IVANHOE. 


“ It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy ; “ I will play my 
part — Templar, thou wilt not fail me ? ” 

“Hand and glove, I will not!” said Bois-Guilbert. “But 
haste thee, in the name of God! ” 

5 De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down 
to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown 
open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous strength 
of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De 
Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, 
10 and the rest gave way notwithstanding all their leader’s efforts 
to stop them. 

“ Dogs! ” said De Bracy, “ will ye let two men win our only 
pass for safety? ” 

“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing 
15 back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “would you 
fly from him into the mouth of hell? — The castle burns behind 
us, villains ! — let despair give you courage, or let me forward ! 
I will cope with this champion myself.” 

20 And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain 
the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful 
period. The vaulted passage to which the postern gave 
entrance, and in which these two redoubted champions were 
now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows which 
25 they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black 
Ehiight with his ponderous axe. At length the Norman re- 
ceived a blow, which, though its force was partly parried by 
his shield, for otherwise never more would De Bracy have 
again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on his 
30 crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor. 

“Yield thee,yDe Bracy,” said the Black Champion, stooping 
over him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal 
poniard with which the knights despatched their enemies, (and 
which was called the dagger of mercy,) “yield thee, Maurice 
35 de Bracy, rescue or no i-escue, or thou art but a dead man.” 

“ I will not yield, ’’^replied De Bracy faintly, “ to an unknown 
conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me — ■ 
it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to 
a nameless churl.” 


IVANHOE. 305 

The Black Knight whispered sometliing into the ear of the 
vanquished. 

“ I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,’'' 
answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and 
determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen submission. 5 

“ Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone of authority, 

“ and there wait my further orders.” 

Yet first, let me say,” said De Bracy, “ what it imports 
thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, 
and will perish in the burning castle without present help.” 10 

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe ! ” exclaimed the Black Knight — “pris- 
oner, and perish ! — The life of every man in the castle shall 
answer it if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his 
chamber ! ” 

“Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy; “ it leads 15 
to his apartment. — ^Wilt thou not accept my guidance ? ” he 
added, in a submissive voice. 

“No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust 
thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued, 20 
Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom the Friar 
was conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as soon as they 
saw the postern open, and drove back the dispirited and de- 
spairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, 
some offered vain resistance, and the greater part fied towards 25 
the courtyard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and 
cast a sorrowful glance after his conqueror. “He trusts me 
not ! ” he repeated ; “ but have I deserved his trust ? ” He then 
lifted liis sword from the fioor, took off his helmet in token of 
submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up his sword to 30 
Locksley, whom he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon apparent 
in the chamber, where Ivanhoe was watched and tended by 
the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awakened from his brief 
slumber by the noise of the battle; and his attendant, who had, 35 
at his anxious desire, again placed herself at the window to 
watch and report to him the fate of the attack, was for some 
time prevented from observing either, by the increase of the 
smouldering and stifling vapor. At length the volumes of 
20 


306 


IVANHOE. 


smoke which rolled into the apartment — the cries for water, 
which were heard even above the din of the battle, made them 
sensible of the progress of this new danger, 
g “The castle burns,” said Rebecca; “it burns! — What can 
we do to save ourselves ? ” 

“ Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivanhoe, “ for 
no human aid can avail me.” 

“I will not fly,” answered Rebecca; “we will he saved or 
perish together. — And yet, great God!— my father, my father 
— what will be his fate ! ” 

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and 
the Templar presented himself,— a ghastly figure, for his gilded 
armor was broken and bloody, and the plume was partly shorn 
away, partly burnt from his casque. “I have found thee,” 
said he to Rebecca ; ‘ ‘ thou shalt prove I will keep my word to 
share weal and woe with thee. There is but one path to safety ; 
I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee — 
up, and instantly follow me! ” 

“Alone,” answered Rebecca, “I will not follow thee. If 
thou wert born of woman— if thou hast but a touch of human 
charity in thee— if thy heart be not hard as thy breastplate — 
save my aged father— save this wounded knight! ” 

“A knight,” answered the Templar, with his characteristic 
calmness, “a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his fate, whether 
it meet him in the shape of sword or flame— and who recks 
how or where a Jew meets with his ? ” 

“Savage warrior,” said Rebecca, “rather will I perish in 
the flames than accept safety from thee ! ” 

“Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca— once didst thou foil me. 

OA 

but never mortal did so twice.” 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled the 
air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his arms 
in spite of her cries, and without regarding the menaces and 
defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. “Hound of 
the Temple— stain to thine Order— set free the damsel ! Traitor 
of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee!— Villain, I will 
have thy heart’s blood ! ” 

“ I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black Knight, who 
at that instant entered the apartment, “ but for thy shouts.” 


IVANHOE. 


307 * 


“ If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, think not of me 
— IDursue yon ravisher— save the Lady Rowena— look to the 
noble Cedric ! ” 

“ In their turn,” answered he of the fetterlock, “ but thine 
is first.” 5 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much 
ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him 
to the postern, and having there delivered his burden to the 
care of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in the 
rescue of the other prisoners. 10 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furi- 
ously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts, the 
great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apart- 
ments, resisted the progress of the flames, and there the rage 
of man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element 15 
held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the de- 
fenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated in 
their blood the vengeance which had long animated them 
against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of the 
garrison resisted to the uttermost— few of them asked quarter 20 
— none received it. The air was filled with groans and clash- 
ing of arms— the floors were slippery with the blood of despair- 
ing and expiring wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest of 
Rov/ena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely 25 
through the meZee, neglected his own safety while he strove to 
avert the blows that were aimed at his master. The noble 
Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward’s apartment just 
as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, with the crucifix 
clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant 30 
death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be con- 
ducted in safety to the barbican, the road to which was now 
cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. 
This accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his 
friend Athelstane, determined, at every risk to himself, to save 35 
that last scion of Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as 
far as the old hall in which he had himself been a prisoner, 
the inventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for 
himself and his companion in adversity. 


308 


IVANHOE. 


When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the 
hottest, the Jester# began to shout, with the utmost power of 
his lungs, ‘ ‘ Saint George and the dragon ! — Bonny Saint George 
for merry England I— The castle is won!” And these sounds 
® he rendered yet more fearful, by banging against each other 
two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay scattered around 
the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or ante- 
room, and whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, took 
10 fright at Wamba’s clamor, and, leaving the door open behind 
them, ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered the old 
hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making 
their escape into the anteroom, and from thence into the court 
of the castle, which was now the last scene of contest. Here 
sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, surrounded by 
several of the garrison both on horse and foot, who had united 
their strength to that of this renowned leader, in order to 
secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained 
to them. The drawbridge had been lowered by his orders, 
but the passage was beset ; for the archers, who had hitherto 
only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no 
sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, 
than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent the es- 
/ cape of the garrison, as to secure their own share of booty ere 
the castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party 
of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now 
issuing out into the courtyard, and attacking with fury the 
remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both 
sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the ex- 
ample of their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers of 
the castle fought with the utmost valor; and, being well 
armed, succeeded more than once in driving back the assail- 
ants, though much inferior in numbers. Eebecca, placed on 
horseback before one of the Templar’s Saracen slaves, was in 
the midst of the little party ; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstand- 
ing the confusion of the bloody fray, showed every attention 
to her safety. Eepeatedly he was by her side, and, neglecting 
his own defense, held before her the fence of his triangular 


IVANHOE. 


309 


steel-plated shield; and anon starting from his position by 
her, he cried his war-cry, dashed forward, struck to earth the 
most forward of the assailants, and was on the same instant 
once more at her bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not 
cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected 
thus sedulously, and doubted not tliat it was Rowena whom 
the knight was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which 
could be offered. 

“ By the soul of Saint Edward,” he said, “ I will rescue her 
from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand ! ” 
Think what you do! ” cried Wamba; “ hasty hand catches 
frog for fish— by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady Rowena 
— see but her long dark locks!— Nay, an ye will not know 
black from white, ye may be leader, but I will be no follower 
— no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know for whom. 
— And you without armor too! — Bethink you, silk bonnet 
never kept out steel blade. — Nay, then, if willful will to water, 
willful must drench. — Deus vobiscum^ most doughty Athel- 
stane ! ” — he concluded, loosening the hold which he had 
hitherto kept upon the Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside 
one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it — to rush on 
the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick succession to the 
right and left, leveling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athel- 
stane’s great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but 
the work of a single moment ; he was soon within two yards 
of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in his loudest tone. 

“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art 
unworthy to touch — turn, limb of a band of murdering and 
hypocritical robbers ! ” 

“ Dog ! ” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “ I will teach 
thee to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of Zion ; ” 
and with these words, half- wheeling his steed, he made a 
demi-courbette towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, 
so as to take full advantage of the descent of the horse, he 
dischgirged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane. 

‘ ‘ Well,” said Wamba, “ that silken bonnet keeps out no steel 
blade.” So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it shore 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


310 


lYANHOE. 


asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited 
handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry 
tlie blow, and, descending on his head, leveled him with the 
earth. 

5 Ha ! Beau-seant !'' exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, “ thus be it 
to the maligners of the Temple-knights ! ” Taking advantage 
of the dismay which was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and 
calling aloud, “Those who would save themselves, follow 
me ! ” he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers 
10 who would have intercepted them. He was followed by his 
Saracens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted 
their horses. The Templar’s retreat was rendered perilous by 
the numbers of arrows shot off at him and his party ; but this 
did not prevent him from galloping round to the barbican, of 
15 which, according to his previous plan, he supposed it possible 
De Bracy might have been in possession. 

“ De Bracy ! De Bracy ! ” he shouted, “ art thou there ? ” 

“ I am here,” replied De Bracy, “ but I am a prisoner.” 

“Can I rescue thee ? ” cried Bois-Guilbert. 

20 “No,” replied De Bracy; “I have rendered me, rescue or 

no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself — there are 
hawks abroad — put the seas betwixt you and England — I dare 
not say more.” 

“ Well,” answered the Templar, “ an thou wilt tarry there, 
25 remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks 
where they will, methinks the walls of the Preceptory of Tem- 
plestow^ will be cover sufficient, and thither will I, like heron 
to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

30 Those of the castle, who had not gotten to horse, still con- 
tinued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the depart- 
ure of the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter than that 
they entertained any hope of escape. The fire was spreading 
rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had 
35 first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the 
ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore 
raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen 
Saxons. Her long disheveled gray hair flew back from her 
uncovered head ; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance 


IVA.NHOE. 


311 


contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity ; and she brand- 
ished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had 
been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread 
of human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes 
of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that 5 
scene of fire and of slaughter ; — 


1 

Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist ! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks I 
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling ! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon I 
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist 1 

2 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle ; 

The eagle screams— he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud. 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy I 
Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 


3 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle. 

The black clouds gather round ; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant I 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner. 

Red, wide and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant : 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound 


312 IVANHOE. 

4 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armor is pierced by the lance ; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish I 
The race of Hengist is gone— 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword. 

Let your blades drink blood like wine ; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

By the light of the blazing halls ! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm. 

And spare neither for pity nor fear. 

For vengeance hath but an hour ; 

Strong hate itself shall expire ! 

I also must perish ! 

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, 
and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, 
20 seen far and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after 
tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the 
combatants were driven from the courtyard. The vanquished, 
of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped into the 
neighboring wood. The victors, assembling in large bands. 
25 gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, 
in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The 
maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible 
on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad 
with wild exultation, as if she reigned empress of the confla- 
30 gration which she had raised. At length, with a terrific crash, 
the whole turret gave way, and she perished in the flames* 
which had consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror 
silenced each murmur of the armed spectators, who, for the 
space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign the 
35 cross. The voice of Locksley w^as then heard, “Shout, yeo- 
men ! — the den of tyrants is no more ! Let each bring his 
spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in 
the Harthill Walk ; for there at break of day will we make just 
partition among our own bands, together with our worthv 
40 allies in this great deed of vengeance,” 


IVANHOE. 


313 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Trust me each state must have its policies : 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest- walk, 

Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline ; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt. 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak forest. 
The green boughs glittered with all their pearls of dew. The 
hind led her fawn from the covert of high fern to the more 
open walks of the greenwood, and no huntsman was there to 
watch or intercept the stately hart, as he paced at the head of 
the antlered herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree in 
the Harthill Walk, where they had spent the, night in refresh- 
ing themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some with wine, 
some with slumber, many with hearing and recounting the 
events of the day, and computing the heaps of plunder which 
their success had placed at the disposal of their Chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding that 
much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armor, and 
splendid clothing, had been secured by the exertions of the 
dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger when 
such rewards were in vieAv. Yet so strict were the laws of 
their society, that no one ventured to appropriate any part of 
the booty, which was brought into one common mass, to be at 
the disposal of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not however the 
same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth and Wamba in 
the earlier part of the story, but one which was the center of a 
silvan amphitheater, within half a mile of the demolished castle 
of Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat — a throne of 
turf erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and 
the silvan followers were gathered around him. He assigned 
to the Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a 
place upon his left. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


314 


IVANHOE. 


‘‘Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,” he said, “but in these 
glades I am monarch — they are my kingdom ; and these my 
Avild subjects would reck but little of my power, were I, within 
my own dominions, to yield place to mortal man. — Now, sirs, 
5 who hath seen our chaplain ? where is our curtal Friar ? A 
mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy morning.” — 
No one had seen the Clerk of Copmanhurst. “ Over gods for- 
bode ! ” said the outlaw chief, “I trust the jolly priest hath 
but abidden by the wine-pot a thought too late. Who saw him 
10 since the castle was ta’en ? ” 

“I,” quoth the Miller, “ marked him busy about the door of 
a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would taste 
the smack of Front-de-Boeuf’s Gascoigne wine.” 

“Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said the 
15 Captain, “forefend, lest he has drunk too deej) of tlie wine- 
butts, and perished by the fall of the castle ! — Away, Miller! — 
take with you enow of men, seek the place where you last saw 
him — throw water from the moat on the scorching ruins — I will 
have them removed stone by stone ere I lose my curtal Friar.” 
20 The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, considering 
that an interesting division of spoil was about to take place, 
showed how much the troop had at heart the safety of their 
spiritual father. 

“ Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley ; ‘ ‘ for when this 
25 bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De Bracy, of 
Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, will be in motion 
against us, and it were well for our safety that we retreat from 
the vicinity. — Noble Cedric,” he said, turning to the Saxon, 
“ that spoil is divided into two portions; do thou make choice 
30 of that which best suits thee, to recompense thy people who 
were partakers with us in this adventure.” 

“Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “my heart is oppressed with 
sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no more— 
the last sprout of the sainted Confessor ! Hopes have perished 
35 with him which can never return! — A sparkle hath been 
quenched by his blood, which no human breath can again re- 
kindle ! My people, save the few who are now with me, do 
but tarry my presence to transport his honored remains to their 
last mansion. The Lady Rowena is desirous to return to 


IVANHOE. 


315 


Rotherwood, and must be escorted by a su3icient force. I 
should, therefore, ere now, have left this place ; and I waited 
— not to share the booty, for, so help me God and Saint With- 
old ! as neither I nor any of mine will touch the value of a hard, 
— I waited but to render my thanks to thee and to thy bold 
yeomen, for the life and honor ye have saved.” 

“Nay, but,” said the chief Outlaw, “ we did but half the 
work at most — take of the spoil what may reward your own 
neighbors and followers.” 

“I am rich enough to reward them from mine own wealth,” 
answered Cedric. 

“ And some,” said Wamba, “ have been wise enough to re- 
ward themselves ; they do not march off empty-handed alto- 
gether. We do not all wear motley.” 

“ They are welcome,” said Locksley; “ our laws bind none 
but ourselves.” 

“ But, thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning about and 
embracing his Jester, “how shall I reward thee, who feared 
not to give thy body to chains and death instead of mine ! — 
All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful ! ” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke — 
a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had not 
extracted ; but there was something in the half -instinctive at- 
tachment of his clown, that waked his nature more keenly than 
even grief itself. 

“ Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his master’s 
caress, “ if you pay my service with the water of your eye, the 
Jester must weep for company, and then what becomes of his 
vocation? — But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I pray 
you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole a week from your 
service to bestow it on your son.” 

“ Pardon him! ” exclaimed Cedric; “ I will both pardon and 
reward him. — Kneel down, Gurth.” — The swineherd was in an 
instant at his master s feet-T-“ Theow and Esne art thou no 
longer,” said Cedric, touching him with a wand; “ Folkfree 
and Sacless art thou in town and from town, in the forest as 
in the field. A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of 
Walbrugham, from me and mine to thee and thine aye and for 
ever; and God's malison on his head who this gainsays !” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


316 


IVANHOE. 


No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth 
sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his 
own height from the ground. 

“ A smith and a file,” he cried, “ to do away the collar from 
5 the neck of a freeman! — noble master! doubled is my strength 
by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you ! — There is a free 
spirit in my breast— I am a man changed to myself and all 
around. — Ha, Fangs!” he continued, — for that faithful cur, 
seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him, 
10 to express his sympathy, — “ knowest thou thy master still ? ” 

“ Ay,” said Wamba, “ Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, 
though we must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art 
likely to forget both us and thyself.” 

“ I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true comrade,” 
15 said Gurth; “and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, the 
master would not let thee want it.” 

“Nay,” said Wamba, “never think I envy thee, brother 
Gurth ; the serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must 
forth to the field of battle. And what saith Oldhelm of Malms- 
20 bury. — Better a fool at a feast than a wise man at a fray.” 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady Eowena 
appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a much stronger 
party of footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes and clashed 
their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She herself, richly 
25 attired, and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered 
all the dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted degree of 
paleness showed the sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely 
brow, though sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for 
the future, as well as of grateful thankfulness for the past 
30 deliverance. She knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew 
that Athelstane was dead. The former assurance filled her 
with the most sincere delight ; and if she did not absolute!}' 
rejoice at the latter, she might be pardoned for feeling the full 
advantage of being freed from further persecution on the only 
35 subject in which she had ever been contradicted by her guardian 
Cedric. 

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that bold 
yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if by a 
general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks, as, 


IVANHOE. 


317 


courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her 
beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the 
flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words 
her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her other 
deliverers. — “ God bless you, brave men, ” she concluded, ‘ ‘ God 5 
and Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly periling 
yourselves in the cause of the oppressed ! — If any of you should 
hunger, remember Rowena has food— if you should thirst, she 
(has many a butt of wine and brown ale — and if the Normans 
drive ye from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, 10 
where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and 
never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer.” 

“Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley; “thanks from my 
company and myself. But, to haVe saved you requites itself. 
We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, and the 15 
Lady Rowena’s deliverance may be received as an atone- 
ment.” 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to depart; 
but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, 
was also taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly close 20 
by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep 
meditation, his arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena was 
in hopes she might pass him unobserved. He looked up, how- 
ever, and, when aware of her presence, a deep flush of shame 
suffused his handsome countenance. He stood a moment most 25 
irresolute ; then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the 
rein, and bent his knee before her. 

“Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on a captive 
knight — on a dishonored soldier ? ” 

“Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “in enterprises such as 30 
yours, the real dishonor lies not in failure, but in success.” 

“ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered De 
Bracy ; “let me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives the 
violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon 
learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.” 35 

“I forgive you. Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “as a Chris- 
tian.” 

“ That means,” said Wamba, “ that she does not forgive 
him at all.” 


318 


IVANHOE. 


\ 

“But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your 
madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena. 

“ Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, coming 
up. “ By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, I would 
5 pin thee to the earth with my javelin — but be well assured, 
thou shalt smart, Maurice De Bracy , for thy share in this foul 
deed.” 

“He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said De 
Bracy; “ but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy? ” 

10 Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady to 
move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude 
to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to accom- 
pany him to Bother wood. 

15 “I know,” he said, “ that ye errant knights desire to carry 
your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land 
or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is some- 
times desirable even to the champion whose trade is wander- 
ing. Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble 
20 knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair the injuries of 
fortune, and all he has is his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to 
Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother.” 

“ Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight, — “he 
has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rotherwood will 
25 I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily ; but, as now, pressing 
matters of moment detain me from your halls. Perad venture 
when I come hither, I will ask such a boon as will put even 
thy generosity to the test.” 

“It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking his 
30 ready hand into the gantleted palm of the Black Knight, — 
“ it is granted already, were it to affect half my fortune.” 

“ Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock ; ‘ ‘ yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask. 
Meanwhile, adieu.” 

35 “I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “that, during the 
funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabitant 
of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh. They will be open 
to all who choose to partake of the funeral banqueting; and, 
I speak in name of the noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince. 


IVANHOE. 


319 


they will never be shut against him who labored so bravely, 
though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains 
and Norman steel.” 

“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on 
his master, “rare feeding there will be — pity that the noble 
Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral. — But he,” con- 
tinued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, “is supping in 
Paradise, and doubtless does honor to the cheer.” 

“Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this un- 
timely jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba’s re- 
cent services. Eowena waved a graceful adieu to him of the 
Fetterlock — the Saxon bade God speed him, and on they moved 
through a wide glade of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved 
from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round the 
silvan amphitheater, and took the same direction with Eowena 
and her followers. The priests of a neighboring convent, in 
expectation of the ample donation, or soul-scat, which Cedric 
had propined, attended upon the car in which the body of 
Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly 
borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of Conings- 
burgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from 
whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his 
vassals had assembled at the news of his death, and followed 
the bier with all the external marks, at least, of dejection and 
sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same rude and 
spontaneous homage to death, which they had so lately ren- 
dered to beauty — the slow chant and mournful step of the 
priests brought back to their remembrance such of their com- 
rades as had fallen in the yesterday’s affray. But such recol- 
lections dwell not long with those who lead a life of danger 
and enterprise, and ere the sound of the death-hymn had died 
on the wind, the outlaws were again busied in the distribution 
of their spoil. 

“ Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Champion, 

‘ ‘ without whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise 
must altogether have failed, will it please you to take from that 
mass of spoil whatever may best serve to pleasure you, and to 
remind you of this my Try sting- tree ? ” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


320 


IVANHOE. 


“ I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “as frankly as it is 
given ; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de Bracy 
at my own pleasure.” 

“ He is thine already,” said Locksley, “and well for him ! 

5 else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, with 
as many of his Free Companions as we could gather, hanging 
thick as acorns around him. — But he is thy prisoner, and he 
is safe, though he had slain my father.” 

“ De Bracy,” said the Knight, “ thou art free — depart. He 
10 whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge for what 
is past. But beware of the future, lest a worst thing befall 
thee. — Maurice de Bracy, I say beware ! ” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to with- 
draw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of execra- 
15 tion and derision. The proud knight instantly stopped, turned 
back, folded his arms, drew up his form to its full height, and 
-exclaimed, “Peace, ye yelping curs ! who open upon a cry 
which ye followed not when the stag was at bay — De Bracy 
scorns your censure as he would disdain youi* applause. To 
20 your brakes and caves, ye outlawed thieves ! and be silent 
when aught knightly or noble is but spoken within a league of 
your fox-earths.” 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy a 
volley of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative interference 
25 of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught a horse by 
the rein, for several which had been taken in the stables of 
Front-de-Boeuf stood accoutered around, and were a valuable 
part of the booty. He threw himself upon the saddle, and 
galloped off through the wood. 

30^ When the bustle occasioned by this incident was somewhat 
composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the rich horn 
and baldric which he had recently gained at the strife of 
archery near Ashby. 

“ Noble knight,” he said to him of the Fetterlock, “ if you 
85 disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which an Eng- 
lish yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you to keep as a 
memorial of your gallant bearing — and if ye have aught to do, 
and, as happeneth oft to a gallant knight, ye chance to be hard 
bested in any forest between Trent and Tees, wind three mots 


IVANHOE. 321 

upon the horn thus, Wa-sa-hoa ! and it may well chance ye shall 
find helpers and rescue.” 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and again 
the call which he described, until the knight had caught the 
notes. 5 

‘‘ Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the Knight ; 
“and better help than thine and thy rangers’ would I never 
seek, were it at my utmost need.” And then in his turn he 
winded the call till all the greenwood rang. 

“ Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman ; “ beshrew me ic 
an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war! — thou 
hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. — Comrades, 
mark these three mots — it is the call of the Knight of the 
Fetterlock ; and he who hears it, and hastens not fp serve him 
at his need, I will have him scourged out of our band with his 15 
own bowstring.” 

“ Long live our leader ! ” shouted the yeomen, ‘ ‘ and long live 
the Black Knight of the Fetterlock! — May he soon use our 
service, to prove how readily it will be paid.” 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, which 20 
he performed with the most laudable impartiality. A tenth 
part of the whole was set apart for the church, and for pious 
uses ; a portion was next allotted to a sort of public treasury ; 
a part was assigned to the widows and children of those who 
had fallen, or to be expended in masses for the souls of such as 25 
had left no surviving family. The rest was divided amongst 
the outlaws, according to their rank and merit; and the judg- 
ment of the Chief, on all such doubtful questions as occurred, 
was delivered with great shrewdness, and received with ab- 
solute submission. The Black Knight was not a little surprised 30 
to find that men, in a state so lawless, were nevertheless among 
themselves so regularly and equitably governed, and all that 
he observed added to his opinion of the justice and judgment 
of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, and 35 
while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, was 
transporting that belonging to the state to some place of con- 
cealment or of security, the portion devoted to the church still 
remained unappropriated. 

21 


322 


IVANHOE. 


“ I would,” said the leader, “ we could hear tidings of our 
joyous chaplain — he was never wont to be absent when meat 
was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted ; and it is his duty to 
take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. It 
6 may be the office has helped to cover some of his canonical 
irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a prisoner at 
no great distance, and I would fain have the Friar to help me 
to deal with him in due sort. I greatly misdoubt the safety 
of the bluff priest.” 

10 “I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the Fetter- 
lock, “ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous hospitality of 
a merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins of the castle ; it 
may be we shall there learn some tidings of him.” 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen 
15 announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they 
learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long be- 
fore they saw his burly person. 

“ Make room, my merry -men !” he exclaimed ; “room for 
your godly father and his prisoner — cry welcome once more. 
20 — I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my 
clutch.” — And making his way through the ring, amidst the 
laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his 
huge partisan in one hand, and in the other a halter, one end 
of which was fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of 
25 York, who, bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on 
by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, ‘ ‘ Where is Allan- 
a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay ? 
— By Saint Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out 
of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting 
80 valor I ” 

“ Curtal Priest,” said the Captain, “ thou hast been at a wet 
mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of Saint 
Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?” 

“ A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble Captain,” 
35 replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst ; “to my bow and to my 
halberd, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed him by 
my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew — have I not 
ransomed thee from Sathanas?— have I not taught thee thy 
credo, thy pater ^ and thine Ave Maria f — Pid I not spend the 


lYANHOE. 323 

whole night in drinking to thee, and in expounding of mys- 
teries ? ” 

“ For the love of God ! ” ejaculated the poor Jew, “ will no 
one take me out of the keeping of this mad — I mean this holy 
man ? ” 5 

“ How’s this, Jew ?”said the Friar, with a menacing aspect; 
“dost thou recant, Jew? — Bethink thee, if thou dost relapse 
into thine infidelity, though thou art not so tender as a suck- 
ling pig — I would I had one to break my fast upon — thou art 
not too tough to be roasted ! Be conformable, Isaac, and 10 
repeat the words after me. Ave Maria ! ” 

“ Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,” said Locks- 
ley ; “let us rather hear where you found this prisoner of 
thine.” 

“ By Saint Dunstan,” said the Friar, “ I found^him where 1 15 
sought for better ware ! I did step into the cellarage to see 
what might be rescued there; for though a cup of burnt wine, 
with spice, be an evening’s draught for an emperor, it were 
waste, methought, to let so much good liquor be mulled at 
once; and I had caught up one runlet of sack, and was coming 20 
to call more aid among these lazy knaves, who are ever to seek 
when a good deed is to be done, when I was avised of a strong 
door. Aha! thought I, here is the choicest juice of all in this 
secret crypt ; and the knave butler, being disturbed in his 
vocation, hath left the key in the door. In therefore I went, 25 
and found just naught besides a commodity of rusted chains 
and this dog of a Jew, Avho presently rendered himself my 
prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after 
the fatigue of the action with the unbeliever, with one hum- 
ming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, 30 
when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and levin- 
fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower, (marry be- 
shrew their hands that built it not the firmer !) and blocked up 
the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed another — I 
gave up thought of life ; and deeming it a dishonor to one of 35 
my profession to pass out of this world in company with a Jew, 

I heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out ; but I took pity 
on his gray hairs, and judged it better to lay down the partisan, 
and take up my spiritual weapon for his conversion. And 


324 


IVANHOE. 


truly, by the blessing of Saint Dunstan, the seed has been sown 
in good soil ; only that, with speaking to him of mysteries 
through the whole night, and being in a manner fasting, (for 
the few draughts of sack which I sharpened my wits with 
5 were not worth marking,) my head is well-nigh dizzied, I trow. 
—But I was clean exhausted. — Gilbert and Wibbald know in 
what state they found me — quite and clean exhausted.” 

“We can bear witness,” said Gilbert ; “for when we had 
cleared away the ruin, and by Saint Dunstan’s help lighted 
10 upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half empty, 
the Jew half dead, and the Friar more than half — exhausted, 
as he calls it.” 

“ Ye be knaves ! ye lie ! ” retorted the offended Friar ; “ it 
was you and your gormandizing companions that drank up the 
15 sack, and called it your morning draught. I am a pagan, an 
I kept it not for the Captain’s own throat. But what recks it ? 
The Jew is converted, and understands all I have told him, 
very nearly, if not altogether, as well as myself.” 

“ Jew,” said the Captain, “is this true? hast thou renounced 
20 thine unbelief ? ” 

“ May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, “ as I 
know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to me all 
this fearful night. Alas ! I was so distraught with agony, and 
fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abraham come to 
25 preach to me, he had found but a deaf listener.” 

“ Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said the 
Friar; “I will remind thee of but one word of our conference 
—thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our holy 
Order.” 

JO “ So help me the Promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even more 
alarmed than before, “ as no such sounds ever crossed my lips! 
Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d man — I fear me a childless — have 
ruth on me, and let me go I ” 

“ Nay,” said the Friar, “ if thou dost retract vows made in 
35 favor of holy Church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the 
staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the Black 
Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the Holy 
Clerk’s resentment to himself. 


IVANHOE. 


325 


“ By Saint Thomas of Kent,” said he, “ an I buckle to my 
gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own 
matters, mauger thine iron case there ! ” 

“Nay, be not wroth witji me,” said the Knight; “thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 5 

“ I know no such thing,” answered the Friar ; “ and defy 
thee for a meddling coxcomb ! ” 

“ Nay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a pleasure 
in provoking his quondam host, “hast thou forgotten how, 
that for my sake (for I say nothing of the temptation of the 10 
flagon and the pasty) thou didst break thy vow of fast and 
vigil ? ” 

“ Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge flst, “I 
will bestow a buffet on thee.” 

“ I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight; “ I am con- 15 
tent to take thy cuff as a loan, hut I will repay thee with usury 
as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his traffic.” 

“ I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

“Hola!” cried the Captain, “what art thou after, mad 
Friar? brawling beneath our Trysting-tree? ” 20 

“ No brawling,” said the Knight; “ it is but a friendly inter- 
change of courtesy. — Friar, strike an thou darest — I will 
stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.” 

“ Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy head,” 
said the churchman; “but have at thee — down thou goest, 25 
an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and put- 
ting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a buffet 
that might have felled an ox. But his adversary stood firm 
as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the yeomen around ; 30 
for the Clerk’s cuff was proverbial amongst them, and there 
were few who, in jest or earnest, had not had occasion to know 
its vigor. 

“Now, Priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, 

“ if I had vantage on my head I will have none on my hand — 35 
stand fast as a true man.” 

“ Genam meam dedi vapiilatori — I have given my cheek to 
the smiter,” said the Priest; “ an thou canst stir me from the 
spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew’s ransoni,” 


326 


IVANHOE. 


So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part, high defi- 
ance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet' of the Knight 
was given with such strength and good-will, that the Friar 
rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the great amaze- 
6 ment of all the spectators. But he arose neither angry noi 
crest-fallen. 

“ Brother,” said he to the Knight, “ thou shouldsthave used 
uhy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled but a lame 
mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper plays ill that 
10 wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in 
friendly witness, that I will exchange no more cuffs with thee, 
having been a loser by the barter. End now all unkindness.' 
Let us put the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not change 
his spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.” 

15 “ The Priest,” said Clement,” is not half so confident of the 

Jew’s conversion, since he received that buffet on the ear.” 

“ Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions? — what, is 
there no respect? — all masters and no men ? — I tell thee, fel- 
low, I was somewhat totty when I received the good knight’s 
20 blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But an thou gibest 
more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well as take.” 

“ Peace all ! ” said the Captain. “ And thou, Jew, think of 
thy ransom ; thou needest not to be told that thy race are held 
to be accursed in all Christian communities, and trust me that 
25 we cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore, 
of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another cast.” 

“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken?” demanded 
the Black Knight. 

“ None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered the 
30 Captain; “ a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we dis- 
missed to find them a new master — enough had been done for 
revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not worth a car- 
decu. The prisoner I speak of is better booty — a jolly monk 
, riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by his horse-gear and 
35 wearing apparel. — Here cometh the worthy prelate, as pert as 
a pyet.” And, between two yeomen, was brought before the 
silvan throne of the outlaw Chief, our old friend. Prior Aymer 
of Jorvaulx. 


IVANHOE. 


327 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

—Flower of warriors, 

How is’t with Titus Lartius ? 

Marcius, As with a man busied about decrees, 

Condemning some to death and some to exile, 

Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

Coriolanus, 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a whim- 
sical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery and 
bodily terror. 

“ Why, how now, my masters? ” said he, with a voice in 
which all three emotions were blended. ‘ ‘ What order is this 
among ye ? Be ye Turks or Christians that handle a church- 
man? — Know ye what it is, manus imponere in servos Domini f 
Ye have plundered my mails — torn my cope of curious cut 
lace, which might have served a cardinal ! — Another in my 
place would have been at his excommunicdbo vos ; but I am 
placable, and if ye order forth my palfreys, release my 
brethren, and restore my mails, tell down with all speed an 
hundred crowns to be expended in masses at the high altar of 
Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat no venison until 
next Pentecost, it may be you shall hear no more of this mad 
frolic.*^ 

“Holy Father,” said the chief Outlaw, “it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my fol- 
lowers, as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

“Usage! ” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone of 
the silvan leader ; “it were usage fit for no hound of good 
race — much less for a Christian — far less for a priest — and 
least of all for the Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. 
Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale — 
nehulo quidam — who has menaced me with corporal punish- 
ment — nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred 
crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath 
already robbed me of — gold chains andgymmal rings to an un- 
known value ; besides what is broken and spoiled among their 
rude hands, such as my pouncet box and silver crisping-tongs, ” 


5 

10 

15 

I 

' 20 

25 


328 


IVANHOE. 


“ It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a 
man of your reverend bearing,” replied the Captain. 

“It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus,” said the 
Prior; “ he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that 
5 he would hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood.” 

“Did he so in very deed ? Nay, then, reverend father, I 
think you had better comply with his demands — for Allan-a- 
Dale is the ver}^ man to abide by his word when he has so 
pledged it.” 

10 “You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, with 
a forced laugh; “and I love a good jest with all my heart. 
But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the livelong 
night, it is time to be grave in the morning.” 

“ And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the Out- 
15 law; “ you must pay a round ransom. Sir Prior, or your con- 
vent is likely to be called to a new election; for your place 
will know you no more.” 

“Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “ and hold this lan- 
guage to a churchman ? ” 

20 “Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among 
us to boot,” answered the Outlaw. “ Let our buxom chaplain 
stand forth, and expound to this reverend father the texts 
which concern this matter.” 

The Friar, half-drunk, half -sober, had huddled a friar's frock 
25 over his green cassock, and now summoning together what- 
ever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former 
days, “Holy father,” said he, ^'‘Deus faciat salvam henignita- 
tern vestram — You are welcome to the greenwood.” 

‘ ‘ What profane mummery is this ? ” said the Prior. ‘ ‘ Friend, 
30 if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a better deed to 
show me how I may escape from these men’s hands, than to 
stand ducking and grinning here like a morris-dancer.” 

“Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “ I know but one 
mode in which thou mayst escape. This is Saint Andrew’s 
35 day with us, we are taking our tithes.” 

“ But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother ?” 
said the Prior. 

“Of church and lay,” said the Friar; “ and therefore, Sir 
Prior, facite vohis amicos de Mammone iniauitatis — make your- 


lYANHOE. 


329 


selves friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness, for no other 
friendship is like to serve your turn.” 

“ I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, soften- 
ing his tone; “come, ye must not deal too hard with me 
— I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and 5 
lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again. — Come, ye must 
not deal too hard with me.” 

“Give him a horn,” said the Outlaw; “ we will prove the 
skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The Captain 10 
shook his head. 

“Sir Prior,” he said, “thou blowest a merry note, but it 
may not ransom thee — we cannot afford, as the legend on a 
good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. More- 
over, I have found thee — thou art one of those, who, with new 15 
French graces and Tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient English 
bugle notes. — Prior, that last flourish on the recheat hath 
added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for corrupting the true old 
manly blasts of venerie.” 

“Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “thou art ill to 20 
please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more conformable 
in this matter of my ransom. At a word — since I must needs, 
for once, hold a candle to the devil — what ransom am I to pay 
for walking on Watling- street, without having fifty men at my 
back ? ” 25 

“Were it not well,” said the Lieutenant of the gang apart 
to the Captain, “that the Prior should name the Jew’s ran- 
som, and the Jew name the Prior’s ? ” 

“Thou art a mad knave,” said the Captain, “but thy plan 
transcends! — Here Jew, step forth. Look at that holy Father 30 
Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, and tell us at 
what ransom we should hold him? — Thou knowest the income 
of his convent, I warrant thee.” 

“ O, assuredly,” said Isaac. “I have trafficked with the 
good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of the 35 
earth, and also much wool. O, it is a rich Abbey-stead, and 
they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the 
lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me 
had such a home to go to, and such incomings by the year and 


r,30 IVANHOE. 

by the month, I would pay much gold and silver to redeem 
my captivity.” 

“Hound of a Jew!” exclaimed the Prior, “no one knows 
better than thy own cursed self, that our holy house of God is 
5 indebted for the finishing of our chancel — ” 

“ And for the storing of your cellars in the last season with 
the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the Jew; “but 
that — that is small matters.” 

“ Hear the infidel dog! ” said the churchman; “ he jangles 
10 as if our holy community did come under debts for the wines 
we have a license to drink, propter necessitatem^ et ad frigus 
depellendum. The circumcised villain blasphemeth the holy 
church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him not! ” 

“All this helps nothing,” said the leader. — “Isaac, pro- 
15 nounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide and hair.” 

“ An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “ the good Prior might 
well pay to your honored valors, and never sit less soft in his 
stall.” 

“ Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely; “ I am con- 
20 tented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred crowns.-^ 
It is a sentence. Sir Prior.” 

‘ ‘ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the band ; ‘ ‘ Solo- 
mon had not done it better.” 

“ Thou hearest thy doom. Prior,” said the loader. 

25 “Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior; “ where am I 
to find such a sum ? If I sell the very pyx and candlesticks 
on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half; and it 
will be necessary for that purpose that I go to Jorvaulx my- 
self; ye may retain as borrows my two priests.” 

30 “ That will be but blind trust,” said the Outlaw; “ we will 

retain thee. Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. Thou 
shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of venison the 
while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such as 
your north country never witnessed.” 

35 “ Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to. curry favor 

with the outlaws, “I can send to York for the six hundred 
crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that the 
most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance.” 

“He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” said 


IVANHOE. 


331 


the Captain; ‘‘and thou shaltlay down the redemption money 
for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.” 

“For myself! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew,” I am a 
broken and impoverished man ; a beggar’s staff must be my por- 
tion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty crowns.” 

“The Prior shall judge of ^that matter,” replied the Cap- 
tain. — “ How say you. Father Aymer ? Can the Jew afford a 
good ransom ? ” 

“ Can he afford a ransom? ” answered the Prior — “ Is he not 
Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of the ten 
tribes of Israel, who were led into Assyrian bondage ? — I have 
seen but little of him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer 
have dealt largely with him, and report says that bis house at 
York is so full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian 
land. Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that such 
gnawing adders should be suffered to eat into the bowels of 
the state, and even of the holy church herself, with foul 
usuries and extortions.” 

“ Hold, father,” said the Jew, “ mitigate and assuage your 
choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that I force my 
moneys upon no one. But when churchman and layman, prince 
and prior, knight and priest, come knocking to Isaac’s door, 
they borrow not his shekels with these uncivil terms, It is 
then. Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this matter, and our 
day shall be truly kept, so God sa’ me ? — and Kind Isaac, if ever 
you served man, show yourself a friend in this need! And 
when the day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I but 
Damned Jew, and The curse of Egypt on your tribe, and all 
that may stir up the rude and uncivil populace against poor 
strangers! ” 

“Prior,” said the Captain, “ Jew though he be, he hath in 
this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, as he 
named thine, without farther rude terms.” 

“ None but latro famosus — the interpretation whereof,” said 
the Prior, “ will I give at some other time and tide — would 
place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew upon the same 
bench, But since ye require me to put a price upon this caitiff, 
I tell you openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you take 
from him a penny under a thousand crowns.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


332 


IVANHOE. 


“ A sentence! — a sentence! ” exclaimed the chief Outlaw. 

‘ ‘ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” shouted his assessors ; ‘ ‘ the 
Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us more 
generously than the Jew.” 

5 “ The God of my fathers help me! ” said the Jew; “ will ye 

bear to the ground an impoverished creature ? — I am this day 
childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of livelihood ? ” 
“Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art 
childless,” said Aymer. 

10 “ Alas! my lord,” said Isaac, “ your law permits you not to 

know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the strings 
of our heart — O Eebecca! daughter of my beloved Eachell 
were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine 
own, all that mass of wealth would I give to know whether 
15 thou art alive, and escaped the hands of the Nazarene ! ” 

“ Was not thy daughter dark-haired” said one of the out- 
laws ; ‘ ‘ and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, broidered 
with silver ? ” 

“She did!” — she did !” said the old man, trembling with 
20 eagerness, as formerly with fear, ‘ ‘ The blessing of Jacob be 
upon thee ! canst thou tell me aught of her safety ? ” 

“ It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “ who was carried off 
by the proud Templar, when he broke through our ranks on 
yester-even. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft after him, 
25 but spared him even for the sake of the damsel, who I feared 
might take harm from the arrow.” 

“ Oh ! ” answered the Jew, “ I would to God thou hadst shot, 
though the arrow had pierced her bosom! — Better the tomb 
of her fathers than the dishonorable couch of the licentious 
30 and savage Templar. Ichabod ! Ichabod ! the glory hath de- 
parted from my house ! ” 

“Friends,” said the Chief, looking round, “ the old man is 
but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. —Deal uprightly 
with us, Isaac — will paying this ransom of a thousand crowns 
35 leave thee altogether penniless ? ” 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love of 
which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with his 
parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could not deny 
there might be some small surplus. 


IVANHOE. 


S33 


‘‘Well — go to — what though there be,” said the Outlaw, 
“we will not reckon with thee too closely. Without treasure 
thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the clutches 
of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as to shoot a stag-royal with a 
headless shaft. — We will take thee at the same ransom with 5 
Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crowns lower, which 
hundred crowns shall be mine own peculiar loss, and not light 
upon this worshipful community ; and so we shall avoid the 
heinous offense of rating a Jew merchant as high as a Christian 
prelate, and thou wilt have. six hundred crowns remaining to It 
treat for tiiy daughter’s ransom. Templars love the glitter of 
silver shekels as well as the sparkle of black eyes. —Hasten to 
make thy crowns chink in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere 
worse comes of it. Thou wilt find him, as our scouts have 
brought notice, at the next Preceptory house of his Order. — 
Said I well, my merry mates ? ” 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their 
leader’s opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one half of his appre- 
hensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and might pos- 
sibly be ransomed, threw himself at the feet of the generous 2& 
Outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his buskins, sought to 
kiss the hem of his green cassock. The Captain drew himself 
back, and extricated himself from the Jew’s grasp, not without 
some marks of contempt. 

“ Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee ! I am English born, 2h 
and love no such Eastern prostrations — Kneel to God, and not 
to a poor sinner, like me.” 

‘ ‘ Ay, Jew, ” said Prior Aymer ; ‘ ‘ kneel to God, as represented 
in the servant of his altar, and who knows, with thy sincere 
repentance and due gifts to the shrine of Saint Robert, what 3(^ 
grace thou may^st acquire for thyself and thy daughter Rebecca? 

I grieve for the maiden, for she is of fair and comely coun- 
tenance, — I beheld her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert is one with 'whom I may do much — bethink thee 
how thou mayst deserve my good word with him.” 35 

“Alas! alas !” said the Jew, “on every hand the spoilers 
arise against me — I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, and 
a prey unto him of Egypt.” 

“And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race ? ” 


334 


IVANHOE. 


answered the Prior; “for what saithholy writ, verhum Domini 
projecerunt^ et sapientia est nulla in eis — they have cast forth 
the word of the Lord, and there is no wisdom in them ; prop- 
terea daho mulieres eorum exteris — I will give their women to 
5 strangers, that is to the Templar, as in the present matter ; 
et thesauros eorum hceredibus alienis^ and their treasures to 
others — as in the present case to these honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and to 
relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But the leader 
10 of the yeomen led him aside. 

“ Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “ what thou wilt do 
in this matter ; my counsel to thee is to make a friend of this 
churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is covetous; at least he 
needs money to supply his profusion. Thou canst easily gratify 
15 his greed ; for think not that I am blinded by thy pretexts of 
poverty. I am intimately acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron 
chest in which thou dost keep thy money-bags. — What! know 
I not the great stone beneath the apple-tree, that Jeads into the 
vaulted chamber under thy garden at York ? ” The Jew grew 
20 as pale as death — ‘ ‘ But fear nothing from me, ” continued the 
yeoman, ‘ ‘ for we are of old acquainted. Dost thou not remem- 
ber the sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter Bebecca redeemed 
from the gyves at York, and kept him in thy house till his 
health was restored, when thou didst dismiss him recovered, 
25 and with a piece of money? — Usurer as thou art, thou didst 
never place coin at better interest than that poor silver mark, 
for it has this day saved thee five hundred crowns.” 

“ And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow 
said Isaac; “ I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice.*" 
30 “ I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the Captain, “ and Locksley, and 

have a good name besides all these.” 

“ But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concerning 
that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as there is 
naught in it but some merchandises which I will gladly part 
35 with to you — one hundred yards of Lincoln green to make doub- 
lets to thy men, and a hundred staves of Spanish yew to make 
bows, and one hundred silken bowstrings, tough, round, and 
sound — these will I send thee for thy good-will, honest Diccon, 
and thou wilt keep silence about the vault, my good Diccon.” 


IVANHOE. 


335 


“Silent as a dormouse,” said the Outlaw; “ and never trust 
me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may not help it. 
— The Templar’s lances are too strong for my archery in the 
open field — they would scatter us like dust. Had I but known 
it was Eebecca when she was borne off, something might have 
been done ; but now thou must needs proceed by policy. Come, 
shall I treat for thee with the Prior ? ” 

“In God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to recover 
the child of my bosom! ” 

“ Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice,” said 
the Outlaw, ‘ ‘ and I will deal with him in thy behalf. ” 

^ He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, however, 
as closely as his shadow. 

“Prior Aymer,” said the Captain, “ come apart with me 
under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine, and a lady’s 
smile, better than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest ; but with that 
I have naught to do. I have heard, too, thou dost love a brace 
of good dogs and a fleet horse, and it may well be that, loving 
things which are costly to come by, thou hatest not a purse of 
gold. But I have never heard that thou didst love oppression 
or cruelty. — Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the means 
of pleasure and pastime in a bag containing one hundred marks 
of silver, if thy intercession with thine ally the Templar shall 
avail to procure the freedom of his daughter.” 

“In safety and honor, as when taken from me,” said the 
Jew, “ otherwise it is no bargain.” 

“ Peace, Isaac,” said the Outlaw, “ or I give up thine inter- 
est. — What say you to this my purpose. Prior Aymer ? ” 

“The matter,” quoth the Prior, “ is of a mixed condition; 
for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet, on the other, it 
goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much is against my con- 
science. Yet, if the Israelite will advantage the Church by giv- 
ing me somewhat over to the building of our dortour, I will take 
it on my conscience to aid him in the matter of his daughter.” 

“For a scor^ of marks to the dortour,” said the Outlaw, — 

‘ ‘ Be still, I say, Isaac ! — or for a brace of silver candlesticks to 
the altar, we will not stand with you.” 

“Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow — ” said Isaac, en- 
deavoring to interpose. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


336 


lYANHOE. 


“Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm!” said the yeo- 
man, losing patience; “an thou dost go on to put thy filthy 
lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life and honor, by 
Heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedi thou hast in the 
5 world, before three days are out ! ” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

“ And what pledge am I to have for all this? ” said the Prior. 

“ When Isaac returns successful through your mediation,” 
said the Outlaw, “ I swear by Saint Hubert, I will see that he 
10 pays thee the money in good silver, or I will reckon with 
him for it in such sort, he had better have paid twenty such 
sums.” 

“ Well then, Jew,” said Aymer, “ since I must needs meddle 
in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing-tablets — 
15 though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would fast for twenty- 
four houi;s, and where shall I find one ? ” -• 

“ If your holy scruples can dispense with using the Jew’s 
tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said the yeoman ; 
and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild-goose which 
20 was soaring over their heads, the advanced-guard of a phalanx 
of his tribe, which were winging their way to the distant and 
solitary fens of Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, 
transfixed with the arrow. 

“ There, Prior,” said the Captain, “ are quills enow to sup- 
25 ply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred years, and 
they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an epistle 
to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully sealed up the 
tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, “ This will be thy 
30 safe-conduct to the Preceptory of Templestowe, and, as I think, 
is most likely to accomplish the delivery of thy daughter, if it 
be well backed with proffers of advantage and commodity at 
thine own hand ; for, trust me well, the good Knight Bois- 
Guilbert is of their confraternity that do naught for naught.” 
35 “Well, Prior,” said the Outlaw, “I will detain thee no 
longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six hun- 
dred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept of him for 
my paymaster; and if I hear that ye boggle at allowing him in 
his accompts the sum so paid by him, Saint Mary refuse me. 


IVANHOE. 337 

an I burn not the abbey over thine head, though I hang ten 
years the sooner ! ” 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had pen- 
ned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an acquittance, 
discharging Isaac of York of six hundred crowns, advanced to 
him in his need for acquittal of his ransom, and faithfully 
promising to hold true compt with him for that sum. 

‘‘And now,” said Prior Aymer, “ I will pray you of restitu- 
tion of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of the reverend 
brethren attending upon me, and also of the gymmal rings, 
jewels, and fair vestures, of which I have been despoiled, 
having now satisfied yofi for my ransom as a true prisoner.” 

“ Touching your brethren. Sir Prior,” said Locksley, “ they 
shall have present freedom, it were unjust to detain them; 
touching your horses and mules, they shall also be restored, 
with such spending-money as may enable you to reach York, 
for it were cruel to deprive you of the means of journeying. — 
But as concerning rings, jewels, chains, and what else, you 
must understand that we are men of tender consciences, and 
will not yield to a venerable man like yourself, who should be 
dead to the vanities of this life, the strong temptation to break 
the rule of his foundation, by wearing rings, chains, or other 
vain gauds.” 

“ Think what you do, my masters,” said the Prior, “ ere you 
put your hand on the Church’s patrimony. These things are 
inter res sacras, and I wot not what judgment might ensue 
were they to be handled by laical hands.” 

“I will take care of that, reverend Prior,” said the hermit 
of Copmanhurst; “ for I will wear them myself.” 

“ Friend, or brother,” said the Prior, in answer to this solu- 
tion of his doubts, “ if thou hast really taken religious orders, 
I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine official for 
the share thou hast taken in this day’s work.” 

“ Friend Prior,” returned the hermit, “ you are to know that 
I belong to a little diocese, where I am my own diocesan, and 
care as little for the Bishop of York as I do for the Abbot of 
Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the convent.” 

“ Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior; “ one of those 
disorderly men, who, taking on them the sacred character with- 
22 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


338 


IVANHOE. 


out due cause, profane the holy rites, and endanger the souls 
of those who take counsel at their hands ; lapidespro pane con- 
doncmtes Us, giving them stones instead of bread, as the Vul- 
gate hath it.” 

5 “ Nay,” said the Friar, “an my brain-pan could have been 

broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. — I say, that 
easing a world of such misproud priests as thou art of their 
jewels and their gimcracks, is a lawful spoiling of the Egyp- 
tians.” 

10 “ Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” said the Prior, in great wrath, 

“ excommunicabo vos.” 

“ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” said the 
Friar, equally indignant; “ I will pouchy up no such affront 
before my parishioners, as thou thinkest it not shame to put 
15 upon me, although I be a reverend brother to thee. Ossa ejus 
perfringam, I will break your bones, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Hola ! ” cried the Captain, “ come the reverend brethren to 
such terras ? — Keep thine assurance of peace. Friar. — Prior, 
an thou hast not made thy peace perfect with God, provoke the 
20 Friar no further. — Hermit, let the reverend father depart in 
peace, as a ransomed man.” 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who continued 
to raise their voices, vituperating each other in bad Latin, 
which the Prior delivered the more fluently, and the Hermit 
25 with the greater vehemence. The Prior at length recollected 
himself sufficiently to be aware that he was compromising his 
dignity, by squabbling with such a hedge-priest as the Outlaw’s 
chaplain, and being joined by his attendants, rode off with con- 
siderably less pomp, and in a much more apostolical condition, 
30 so far as worldly matters were concerned, than he had exhibi- 
ted before this rencounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some security for 
the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s account, as well 
as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order sealed with 
35 his signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, requiring him to 
pay to the bearer the sum of a thousand crowns, and to deliver 
certain merchandises specified in the note. 

“My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, “hath the 
key of my warehouses.” 


IVANHOE. 


339 


“And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

“ No, no — may Heaven forefend ! ” said Isaac; “ evil is the 
hour that let any one whomsoever into that secret ! ” 

“ It is safe with me,” said the Outlaw, “ so be that this thy 
scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set down. — But 
what now, Isaac ? art dead ? art stupefied ? hath the payment 
of a thousand crowns put thy daughter’s peril out of my 
mind ? ” 

The Jew started to his feet — “No, Diccon, no — I will pres- 
ently set forth. — Farewell, thou whom I may not call good, and 
dare not and will not call evil.” 

Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowed on him 
this parting advice : — “Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, and 
spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. Credit me, that 
the gold thou shalt spare in her cause, will hereafter give thee 
as much agony as if it were poured molten down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his jour- 
ney, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be his 
guides, and at the same time his guards, through the wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest these 
various proceedings, now took his leave of the Outlaw in turn; 
nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at having witnessed 
so much of civil policy amongst persons cast out from all the 
ordinary protection and influence of the laws. 

“ Good fruit, Sir Knight,” said the yeoman, “ will sometimes 
grow on a sorry tree ; and evil times are not always productive 
of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those who are drawn 
into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, numbers who wish to 
exercise its license with some moderation , and some who regret, 

may be, that they are obliged to follow such a trade at all.” 

“And to one of those,” said the Knight, “ I am now, I pre- 
'§ume, speaking ? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” said the Outlaw, “we have each our secret. 
You are welcome to form your judgment of me, and I may use 
my conjectures touching you, though neither of our shafts may 
hit the mark they are shot at. But as I do not pray to be ad- 
mitted into your mystery, be not offended that I preserve my 
own.” 

“I crave pardon, brave Outlaw,” said the Knight, “your 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

80 

35 


340 


IVANHOE. 


reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter with 
less of concealment on either side. — Meanwhile we part friends, 
do we not ? ” 

“ There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley ; “ and I will call 
5 it the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw for tlie 
present.” 

“And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “and I hold 
it honored by being clasped with yours. For he that does 
good having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise 
10 not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which 
he forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Outlaw ! ” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship; and He of the Fetterlock, 
mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode oif through the 
forest. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

King John, I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 

And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread, 

He lies before me.— Dost thou understand me ? 

Kiiig John, 

15 There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which 
Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders, 
by whose assistance he hoped to carry through his ambitious 
projects upon his brother’s throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his 
able and politic agent, was at secret work among them, tem- 
20 pering all to that pitch of courage which was necessary in 
making an open declaration of their purpose. But their enter- 
prise was delayed by the absence of more than one main limb 
of the confederacy. The stubborn and daring, though brutal 
courage of Front-de-Boeuf, the buoyant spirits and bold bear- 
25 ing of De Bracy ; >the sagacity, martial experience, and re- 
nowned valor of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the 
success of their conspiracy; and, while cursing in secret their 
unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither John nor his 
adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the Jew also 
30 seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of certain 
sums of money, making up the subsidy for which Prince John 


IVANHOE. 


341 


had contracted with that Israelite and his brethren. This defi- 
ciency was likely to prove perilous in an emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that a 
confused report began to spread abroad in the city of York, 
that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their confederate Front- 
de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. Waldemar brought the 
rumor to Prince John, announcing, that he feared its truth 
the more that they had set out with a small attendance, for the 
purpose of committing an assault on the Saxon Cedric and his 
attendants. At another time the Prince would have treated 
this deed of violence as a good jest; but now, that it interfered 
with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against the per- 
petrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and the infringement 
of public order and of private property, in a tone which might 
have become King Alfred. 

“The unprincipled marauders,” he said — “ were I ever to 
become monarch of England, I would hang such transgressors 
over the drawbridges of their own castles.” 

“But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahithophel 
coolly, “ it is necessary not only that your Grace should endure 
the transgressions of these unprincipled marauders, but that 
you should afford them your protection, notwithstanding your 
laudable zeal for the laws they are in the habit of infringing. 
We shall be finely helped, if the churl Saxons should have real- 
ized your Grace’s vision, of converting feudal drawbridges into 
gibbets ; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to whom 
such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is well aware, 
it will be dangerous to stir without Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, 
and the Templar ; and yet we have gone too far to recede with 
safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and then 
began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“ The villains,” he said, “the base treacherous villains, to 
desert me at this pinch 1 ” 

“Nay, say rather the feather-p4ted giddy madmen,” said 
Waldemar, “ who must be toying with follies when such busi- 
ness was in hand.” 

“ What is to be done ?” said the Prince, stopping short be* 
fore Waldemar. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


342 


IVANnOE. 


“I know nothing which can be done,” answered his coun- 
selor, “save that which I have already taken order for. — I 
came not to bewail this evil chance with your Grace, until I 
had done my best to remedy it.” 

5 “Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the 
Prince ; ‘ ‘ and when I have such a chancellor to advise withal, 
the reign of John will be renowned in our annals. — What hast 
thou commanded ? ” 

“ I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieutenant, 
10 to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display his banner^ 
and to set presently forth towards the castle of Front-de-Boeuf 
to do what yet may be done for the succor of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, 
who has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. 

15 “ By the face of God ! ” he said, “ Waldemar Fitzurse, much 

hast thou taken upon thee ! and over malapert thou w€*rt to 
cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in a town where 
ourselves were in presence, without our express command.” 

“I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, internally 
20 cursing the idle vanity of his patron ; ‘ ‘ but when time pressed, 
and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I judged it best to 
take this much burden upon me, in a matter of such impor- 
tance to your Grace’s interest.” 

“Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince, gravely; 
25 “ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness. — But whom 
have we here ? — De Bracy himself, by the rood ! — and in 
strange guise doth he come before us.” 

It was indeed De Bracy — “bloody with spurring, fiery red 
with speed.” His armor bore all the marks of the late ob- 
30 stinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with blood in 
many places, and covered with clay and dust from the crest to 
the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on the table, and^' 
stood a moment as if to collect himself before he told his news. 

“ De Bracy,” said Prince John, “ what means this ? — Speak, 
35 1 charge thee ! — Are the Saxons in rebellion ? ” 

“Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same mo- 
ment with his master, “ thou wert wont to be a man. — Where 
is the Templar ? — where is Front-de-Boeuf ? ” 

“ The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy ; “ Front-de-Boeuf you 


IVANHOE. 


343 


will never see more. He has found a red grave among the 
blazing rafters of his own castle, and I alone am escaped to 
tell you.” 

“ Cold news,” said Waldemar, “ to us, though you speak of 
fire and conflagration.” 

“ The worst news is not yet said,” answered DeBracy; and, 
coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic 
tone — “ Kichard is in England — I have seen and spoken with 
him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back of 
an oaken bench to support himself — much like to a man who 
receives an arrow in his bosom. 

“ Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse; “ it cannot be.” 

“ It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy; “I was his 
prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

“ With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou ? ” continued Fitz- 
urse. 

“With Richard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy, “with 
Richard Coeur-de-Lion— with Richard of England.” 

“ And thou wert his prisoner ? ” said Waldemar; “ he is then 
at the head of a power ? ” 

“ No — only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to 
these his person is unknown. I heard him say he was about 
to depart from them. He joined them only to assist at the 
storming of Torquilstone.” 

“ Ay,” said Fitzurse, “ such is indeed the fashion of Richard 
— a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild adventure, 
trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any Sir Guy or Sir 
Bevis, while the weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, and 
his own safety is endangered.— What dost thou propose to do, 
De Bracy ? ” 

‘ ‘ I ?— I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, and 
he refused them — I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, 
and embark for Flanders ; thanks to the bustling times, a man 
of action will always find employment And thou, Waldemar, 
wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay down thy policies, and 
wend along with me, and share the fate which God sends us ? ” 

“ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” answered 
Waldemar, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


344 


IVANHOE. 


“Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits 
her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” said De Bracy. 

“Not so,” answered Fitzurse; “I will take sanctuary in this 
church of Saint Peter — the Archbishop is my sworn brother.” 

5 During this discourse. Prince John had gradually awakened 
from the stupor into which he had been thrown by the unex- 
pected intelligence, and had been attentive to the conversation 
which passed betwixt his followers. “ They fall off from me,” 
he said to himself, “they hold no more by me than a withered 
*i0 leaf by the bough when a breeze blows on it !— Hell and fiends ' 
can I shape no means for myself when I am deserted by these 
» cravens ? ” — He paused, and there was an expression of diabob 
ical passion in the constrained laugh with which he at length 
broke in on their conversation. 

15 “Ha, ha, ha ! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady's 
brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet 
ye throw down wealth, honor, pleasure, all that our noble game 
promised you, at the moment it might be won by one bold 
cast ! ” 

20 “I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “As soon as 
Eichard's return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of 
an army, and all is then over with us. I would counsel you, 
my lord, either to fly to France or take the protection of the 
Queen Mother.” 

25 “I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, haughtily; 
“that I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. But 
although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so 
ready to abandon me, I should not greatly delight to see your 
heads blackening on Clifford’s gate yonder. Thinkest thou, 
30 Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will not suffer thee to 
be taken from the very horns of the altar, would it make his 
peace with King Eichard ? And forgettest thou, De Bracy, 
that Eobert Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his 
forces, and that the Earl of Essex is gathering his followers ? 
If we had reason to fear these levies even before Eichard’s 
return, trowest thou there is any doubt now which party their 
leaders will take ? Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength 
enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the Humber.” — 
N aidemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other’s faces 


IVANHOE. 


345 


with blank dismay,— “ There is but one road to safety,” con- 
tinued the Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; “this 
object of our terror journeys alone. He must be met withal.” 

\ “Not by me,” said De Bracy, hastily; “ I was his prisoner, 
and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his 5 
crest.” 

“Who spoke of harming him ?” said Prince John, with a 
hardened laugh ; ‘ ‘ the knave will say next that I meant he 
should slay him! — No— a prison were better; and whether in 
Britain or Austria, what matters it ?— Things will be but as 10 
they were when we commenced our enterprise.— It was founded 
on the hope that Richard would remain a captive in Germany. 
Our uncle Robert lived and died in the castle of Cardiff e.” 

“Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “your sire Henry sate more 
firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the best prison is 15 
that which is made by the sexton — no dungeon like a church 
vault! I have said my say.” 

“ Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “ I wash my hands of the 
whole matter.” 

“Villain!” said Prince John, “thou wouldst not bewray 20 
our counsel ? ” 

“ Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy, 
haughtily, ' ‘ nor must the name of villain be coupled with 
mine ! ” 

“ Peace, Sir Knight! ” said Waldemar; “and you, good my 25 
lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy ; I trust I shall 
soon remove them.” 

“ That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the Knight. 

“Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily politician, 

“ start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, consider- 30 
ing the object of your terror. — This Richard— hut a day since, 
and it would have been thy dearest wish to have met him hand 
to hand in the ranks of battle — a hundred times I have heard 
thee wish it.” 

“ Ay,” said De Bracy, “but that was as thou sayest, hand 35 
to hand, and in the ranks of battle! Thou never heardest me 
breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, and in a forest.” 

“Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,” said 
Waldemar. “Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac and Sir 


346 


lYANHOE. 


Tristram won renown ? or was it not by encountering gigantic 
knights under the shade of deep and unknown forests ? ” 

“ Ay, but I promise you,” said De Bracy, “ that neither Tris- 
tram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to hand, for 
5 Richard Plantagenet, and I think it was not their wont to take 
odds against a single man.” 

“ Thou art mad, De Bracy — what is it we propose to thee, a 
hired and retained captain of Free Companions, whose swords 
are purchased for Prince John’s service ? Thou art apprised 
10 of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, though thy patron’s 
fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine own, and the life and 
honor of every one amongst us, be at stake ! ” 

“ I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “ that he gave me my 
life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused my 
15 homage — so far I owe him neither favor nor allegiance — but I 
will not lift hand against him.” 

“ It needs not — send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of thy 
lances.” 

“Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De Bracy; 
20 “ not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.” 

“Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince John; 
“ and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations of zeal 
for my service ? ” 

“ I mean it not,” said De Bracy; “ I will abide by you in 
25 aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the 
camp; but tbis highway practice comes not within my vow.” 

“Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “An un- 
happy prince am I. My father, King Henry, had faithful serv- 
ants — He had but to say that he was plagued with a factious 
30 priest, and the blood of Tliomas a Becket, saint though he was, 
stained the steps of his own altar. — Tracy, !Morville, Brito, 
loyal and daring subjects, your names, your spirit, are extinct! 
and although Reginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen 
off from his father’s fidelity and courage.” 

35 “ He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; 

“ and since it may not better be, I will take on me the conduct 
of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, did my father 
purchase the praise of a zealous friend ; and yet did his proof 
of loyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am about to afford ; 


IVANHOE. 


347 


for rather would I assail a whole calendar of saints, than put 
spear in rest against Coeur-de-Lion. — De Bracy, to thee I must 
trust to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard Prince 
John’s person. If you receive such news as I trust to send 
you, our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful aspect. — 5 
Page,” he said, “hie to my lodgings, and tell my armorer to 
be there in readiness; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad 
Thoresby, and the Three Spears of Spyinghow, come to me 
instantly; and let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon, attend me 
also. — Adieu, my Prince, till better times.” Thus speaking, 10 
he left the apartment. 

“He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince John 
to De Bracy, “ with as little touch of compunction, as if it but 
concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he will ob- 
serve our orders, and use our dear Richard’s person with all 15 
due respect.” 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“ By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, “our 
orders to him were most precise — though it may be you heard 
them not, as we stood together in the oriel window — most clear 20 
and positive was our charge that Richard’s safety should be 
.cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s head if he transgress it! ” 

“I had better pass to his lodgings,” said De Bracy, “and 
make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure; for, as it 
quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have reached that 25 
of Waldemar.” 

“Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “I promise 
thee he heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupation for 
thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar posture, 30 
and Prince John, with an air of the most confidential intimacy, 
proceeded to say, “What thinkest thou of this Waldemar 
Fitzurse, my De Bracy ? — He trusts to be our Chancellor. 
Surely we will pause ere we give an office so high to one who 
shows evidently how little he reverences our blood, by his so 35 
readily undertaking this enterprise against Richard. Thou 
dost think, I warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of our re- 
gard, by thy boldly declining this unpleasing task. But no, 
Maurice ! I rather honor thee for thy virtuous constancy. 


348 


IVANHOE. 


There are things most necessary to be done, the perpetrator of 
which we neither love nor honor; and there may be refusals 
to serve us, which shall rather exalt in our estimation those 
who deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother 
5 forms no such good title to the high office of Chancellor, as thy 
chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to the 
truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and be- 
gone to thy charge. ” 

“Fickle tyrant!” muttei^ed De Bracy, as he left the pres- 
10 ence of the Prince; “ evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy 
Chancellor, indeed ! — He who hath the keeping of thy con- 
science shall have an easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal 
of England! that,” he said, extending his arm, as if to grasp 
the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride along the 
15 antechamber, “ that is indeed a prize worth playing for ! ” 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince John 
summoned an attendant. 

“ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as soon 
as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.” 

20 The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which 
John traversed the apartment with unequal and disordered 
steps. 

“ Bardon,” said he, “ what did Waldemar desire of thee ? ” 

“Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern 
25 wilds, and skillful in tracking the tread of man and horse.’ 

“ And thou hast fitted him ? ” 

“ Let your grace never trust me else,” answered the master 
of the spies. ‘ ‘ One is from Hexamshire ; he is wont to trace 
the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound follows 
30 the slot of a hurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, and has 
twanged his bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood; he knows 
each glade and dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt this and 
Richmond.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said the Prince. — “ Goes Waldemar forth with 
35 them ? ” 

“ Instantly,” said Bardon, 

“ With what attendance ?” asked John, carelessly. 

“ Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they 
call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steelheart; and three northern 


IVANHOE. 349 

men-at-amis that belonged to Ralph Middleton’s gang — they 
are called the Spears of Spyinghow.” 

‘‘ ’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a moment’s 
pause, “ Bardon, it imports our service that thou keep a strict 
watch on Maurice de Bracy — so that he shall not observe it, T 
however. And let us know of his motions from time to t^me 
— with whom he converses, what he proposeth. Fail not in 
this, as thou wilt be answerable.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — “ if he betrays 1C 
me, as his hearing leads me to fear, I will have his head, were 
Richard thundering at the gates of York.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

Anonymous, 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted upon a 
mule, the gift of the Outlaw, with two tall yeomen to act as 
his guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the Preceptory 15 
of Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating his daughter’s 
redemption. The preceptory was but a day’s journey from 
the demolished castle of Torquilstone, and the Jew had hoped 
to reach it before nightfall; accordingly, having dismissed his 
guides at the verge of the forest, and rewarded them with a 20 
piece of silver, he began to press on with such speed as his 
weariness permitted him to exert. But his strength failed him 
totally ere he had reached within four miles of the Temple- 
Court; racking pains shot along his back and through his 
limbs, and the excessive anguish which he felt at heart being 25 
now augmented by bodily suffering, he was rendered alto- 
gether incapable of proceeding farther than a small market- 
town, where dwelt a Jewish Rabbi of his tribe, eminent in 
the medical profession, and to whom Isaac was well known. 
Nathan Ben Israel received his suffering countryman with 30 
that kindness which the law prescribed, and which the Jews 


^50 


IVANHOE. 


practiced to each other. He insisted on his betaking himself 
to repose, and used such remedies as were then in most repute 
to check the progress of the fever, which terror, fatigue, ill 
g usage, and sorrow had brought upon the poor old Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue 
his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, both 
as his host and as his physician. It might cost him, he said, 
his life. But Isaac replied, that more than life and death 
depended upon his going that morning to Templestowe. 

“To Templestowe!’’ said his host with surprise; again felt 
his pulse, and then muttered to himself, “ His fever is abated, 
yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and disturbed.” 

“And why not to Templestowe?” answered his patient. 
“ I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to whom 
the despised Children of the Promise are a stumbling-block and 
an abomination; yet thou knowest that pressing affairs of 
traffic sometimes carry us among these bloodthirsty Nazarene 
soldiers, and that w’e visit the Preceptories of the Templars, 
2Q as well as the Commanderies of the Knights Hospitallers, as 
they are called.” 

“ I know it well,” said Nathan; ‘'but wottest thou that 
Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their Order, and whom 
they term Grand Master, is now himself at Templestowe ? ” 

“I know it not,” said Isaac; “our last letters from our 
brethren at Paris advised us that he was at that city, beseech- 
ing Philip for aid against the Sultan Saladine.” 

“ He hath since come to England, unexpected by his breth- 
ren,” said Ben Israel; “and he cometh among them with a 
gQ strong and outstretched arm to correct and to punish. His 
countenance is kindled in anger against those who have de- 
parted from the vow which they have made, and great is the 
fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard of his 
n^me ? ” 

gg “It is well known unto me,” said Isaac; “ the Gentiles de- 
liver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying for 
every point of the Nazarene law ; and our brethren have termed 
him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to 
the Children of the Promise.” 

“ And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the physi- 


IVANHOE. 


351 


cian. “ Other Templars may be moved from the purpose of 
their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise of gold and sil- 
ver; but Beaumanoir is of a different stamp — hating sensu^' 
ality, despising treasure, and pressing forward to that which 
they call the crown of martyrdom — The God of Jacob speedily 5 
send it unto him, and unto them all ! Specially hath this proud 
man extended his glove over the children of Judah, as holy 
David over Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be an offer- 
«ing of as sweet savor as the death of a Saracen. Impious 
and false things has he said even of the virtues of our medicines, 10 
as if they were the devices of Satan — The Lord rebuke him ! ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Isaac, “I must present myself at Tem- 
plestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a fiery fur- 
nace seven times heated.” 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his jour- 15 
ney. The Kabbi listened with interest, and testified his sym- 
pathy after the fashion of his people, rending his clcGies, and 
saying, “Ah, my daughter! — ah, my daughter! — Alas! for 
the beauty of Zion ! — Alas ! for the captivity of Israel ! ” 

“Thou seest,” said Isaac, “ how it stands with me, and that 20 
I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this Lucas 
Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may turn Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth meditate, and that 
he may deliver to me my beloved daughter Eebecca.” 

“Go thou,” said Nathan Ben Israel, “ and be wise, for wis-25 
dom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he was cast ; 
and may it go well with thee, even as thine heart wisheth. 
Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the presence of the Grand 
Master, for to do foul scorn to our people is his morning and 
evening delight. It may be if thou couldst speak with Bois- 30 
Guilbert in private, thou shalt the better prevail with him; for 
men say that these accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in 
the Preceptory- — May their counsels be confounded and brought 
to shame! But do thou, brother, return to me as if it were to 
the house of thy father, and bring me word how it has sped 35 
with thee ; and well do I hope thou wilt bring with thee Pe- 
becca, even the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures the 
Gentiles slandered as if they had been wrought by necro- 
mancy.” 


352 


IVANHOE. 


Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an 
hour’s riding brought him before the Preceptory of Temple- 
Stowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst fair 
5 meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the former Pre- 
ceptor had bestowed upon their Order. It was strong and well 
fortified, a point never neglected by these knights, and which 
the disordered state of England rendered peculiarly necessary. 
Two halberdiers, clad in black, guarded the drawbridge, and 
10 others, in the same sad livery, glided to and fro upon the walls 
with a funereal pace, resembling specters more than soldiers. 
The inferior officers of the Order were thus dressed, ever since 
their use of white garments, similar to those of the knights and 
esquires, had given rise to a combination of certain false breth- 
15 ren in the mountains of Palestine, terming themselves Templars, 
and bringing great dishonor on tlie Order. A knight was now 
and then seen to cross the court in his long white cloak, his 
head depressed on his breast, and his arms folded. They passed 
each other, if they chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, and 
20 niute greeting; for such was the rule of their Order, quoting 
thereupon the holy texts, ‘ ‘ In many words thou shalt not avoid 
sin,” and “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” 
In a word, the stern ascetic rigor of the Temple discipline, 
which had been so long exchanged for prodigal and licentious 
25 indulgence, seemed at once to have revived at Templestowe 
under the severe eye of Lucas Beaumanoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek en- 
• trance in the manner most likely to bespeak favor; for he 
was well aware, that to his unhappy race the reviving fanati- 
30 cism of the Order was not less dangerous than their unprinci 
pled licentiousness: and that his religion would be the object 
of hate and persecution in the one case, as his wealth would 
have exposed him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting 
oppression. 

35 Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden be- 
longing to the Preceptory, included within the precincts of its 
exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential communi- 
cation with a brother of his Order, who had come in his com- 
pany from Palestine. 


IVANHOE. 


353 


The Grand Master was a man advanced in age^ as was testi- 
fied by his long gray beard, and the shaggy gray eyebrows over- 
hanging eyes, of which, however, years had been unable to 
quench the fire. . A formidable warrior, his thin and severe 
features retained the soldier’s fierceness of expression ; an ascetic 
bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence, 
and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with 
these severer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat 
striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which 
Ins high office called- upon him to act among monarchs and 
princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme authority 
over the valiant and high-born knights, who were united by 
the rules of the Order. His stature was tall, and his gait, unde- 
pressed by age and toil, was erect and stately. His white mantle 
was shaped with severe regularity, according to the rule of 
Saint Bernard himself, being composed of what was then called 
Burrel cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bear- 
ing on the left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the 
Order, formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine decked this 
garment ; but in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as per- 
mitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed with 
the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, which 
was the nearest approach he could regularly make to the use of 
fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In his hand he bore that 
singular abacus, or staff of office, with which Templars are usu- 
ally represented, having at the upper end a round plate, on 
which was engraved the cross of the Order, inscribed within a 
circle or orle, as heralds term it. His companion, who attended 
on this great personage, had nearly the same dress in all re- 
spects, but his extreme deference towards his Superior showed 
that no other equality subsisted between them. The Preceptor, 
for such he was in rank, w^alked not in a line with the Grand 
Master, but just so far behind that Beaumanoir could speak to 
him without turning round his head. 

“Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “dear companion of 
my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone can I 
confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, since I 
came to this kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved and to be 
with the just. Not one object in England hath met mine ey^ 

23 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


354 


IVANHOE. 


which it could rest upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our 
brethren, beneath the massive roof of our Temple Church in 
yonder proud capital. O, valiant Robert de Eos ! did I ex- 
claim internally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the 
5 cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepulchers, — O, 
worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and 
take to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive 
with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay of 
our Holy Order! ’’ 

10 “It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet ; “ it is but 
too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in England 
are even more gross than those in France.” 

“Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand 
Master. “Bear with me, brother, although I should some- 
15 thing vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, keep- 
ing each point of my Order, striving with devils embodied and 
disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, who goeth about 
seeking whom he may devour, like a good knight and devout 
priest, wheresoever I met with him — even as blessed Saint 
20 Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty-fifth capital of our 
rule, Ut Leo semper feriatur. But by the Holy Temple ! the 
zeal which l;iath devoured my substance and my life, yea, the 
very nerves and marrow of my bones; by that very Holy 
Temple I swear to thee, that •save thyself, and some few that 
25 still retain the ancient severity of our Order, I look upon no 
brethren whom I can bring my soul to embrace under that 
holy name. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren 
observe them ? They should wear no vain or worldly orna- 
ment, no crest upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or 
30 bridle-bit ; yet who now go pranked out so proudly and so 
gayly as the poor soldiers of the Temple ? They are forbidden 
by our statutes to take one bird by means of another, to shoot 
beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to a hunting-horn, or to 
spur the horse after game. But now, at hunting and hawk- 
35 ing, and each idle sport of wood and river, who so prompt as 
the Templars in all these fond vanities ? They are forbidden 
to read, save what their Superior permitted, or listen to what 
is read, save such holy things as may be recited aloud during 
the hours of refection ; but lo ! their ears are at the command 


IVANHOE. 


355 


of idle minstrels, and their eyes study empty romaunts. They 
were commanded to extirpate magic and heresy. Lo! thej 
are charged with studying the accursed cabalistical secrets of 
the Jews, and the magic of the Paynim Saracens. Simpleness g 
of diet was prescribed to them, roots, pottage, gruels, eating 
flesh but thrice a-week, because the accustomed feeding on 
flesh is a dishonorable corruption of the body; and behold, 
their tables groan under delicate fare ! Their drink was to be 
water, and now,, to drink like a Templar, is the boast of each 
jolly boon companion! This very garden, fllled as it is with 
curious herbs- and trees sent from the Eastern climes, better 
becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir, than the plot 
which Christian Monks should devote to raise their homely 
pot-herbs. — And O, Conrade! well it were that the relaxation 
of discipline stopped even here! — Well thou knowest that we 
were forbidden to receive those devout women, who at the be- 
ginning were associated as sisters of our Order, because, saith 
the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient Enemy hath, by female 
society, withdrawn many from the right path to Paradise. 20 
Nay, in the last capital, being, as it were, the cope-stone 
which our blessed founder placed on the pure and undefiled 
doctrine which he had enjoined, we are prohibited from offer- 
ing, even to our sisters and our mothers, the kiss of affection 
— ut omnium muUerum fugiantur oscula . — I shame to speak — 25 
I shame to think — of the corruptions which have rushed in 
upon us even like a flood. The souls of our pure founders, the 
spirits of Hugh de Payen and i'-odfrey de Saint Omer, and of 
the blessed seven who first joined in dedicating their lives to 
the service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the enjoyment gQ 
of Paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the visions 
of the night — their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins and 
follies of their brethren, and for the foul and shameful luxury 
in which they wallow. Beaumanoir, they say, thou slumber- 
est — awake! There is a stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep gg 
and foul as that left by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of 
the infected houses of old. The soldiers of the Cross, who 
should shun the glance of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, 
live in open sin, not with the females of their own race only, 
but with the daughters of the accursed heathen, and more 


356 


IVANHOE. 


accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up and avenge oui 
cause ! Slay the sinners, male and female ! — Take to thee the 
brand of Phineas! — The vision fled, Conrade, but as I awaked 
I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see the waving 
5 of their white mantles. — And I will do according to their word, 
I WILL purify the fabric of the Temple ! and the unclean stones in 
which the plague is, I will remove and cast out of the building.” 

“Yet bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont-Fitchet, 
“the stain hath become engrained by time pnd consuetude; 
10 let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.” 

“ No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man — “ it must 
be sharp and sudden — the Order is on the crisis of its fate. 
The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predecessors, made 
us powerful friends — our presumption, our wealth, our luxury, 
15 have raised up against us mighty enemies. — We must cast 
away these riches, which are a temptation to princes — we 
must lay down that presumption, which is an offense to them 
— we must reform that license of manners, which is a scandal 
to the whole Christian world ! Or — ^mark my words— the Order 
20 of the Temple will be utterly demolished— and the place there- 
of shall no more be known among the nations.” 

“ Now may God avert such a calamity ! ” said the Preceptor. 

“Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, “ but we 
must deserve his aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither the 
25 powers in heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer endure 
the wickedness of this generation. My intelligence is sure — 
the ground on which our fabric is reared is already under- 
mined, and each addition we make to the structure of our 
greatness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must 
30 l*e trace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful Champions 
of the Cross, sacriflcing to our calling, not alone our blood and 
our lives — not alone our lusts and our vices— but our ease, our 
comforts and our natural affections, and act as men convinced 
that many a pleasure which may be lawful to others, is for- 
35 bidden to the vowed soldier of the Temple.” 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vestment, 
(for the aspirants after this holy Order wore during their no- 
vitiate the cast off garments of the knights), entered the gar- 
den, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, stood 


IVANHOE. 357 

silent, awaiting his permission ere he presumed to tell his 
errand. 

“Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, “to see 
this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, 
thus appear with reverend silence before his superior, than but 
two days since, when the fond fool was decked in a painted 
coat, and jangling as pert and as proud as any popinjay ? — 
Speak, Damian, we permit thee. What is thine errand ?” 

“A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend 
father,” said the Squire, “who prays to speak with brother 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said the 
Grand Master ; “in our presence a Preceptor is but as a com- 
mon compeer of our Order, who may not walk according to 
his own will, but to that of his Master — even according to the 
text, ‘ In the hearing of the ear he hath obeyed me.’ — It im- 
ports us especially to know of this Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,” 
said he, turning to his companion. 

“ Keport speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade. 

“And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master; “ in 
our valor only we are not degenerated from our predecessors, 
the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came into our 
Order, a moody and disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, 
to take our vows and to renounce the world, not in sincerity 
of soul, but as one whom some touch of light discontent had 
driven into penitence. Since then, he hath become an active 
and earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a machinator, and a 
leader amongst those who impugn our authority ; not consider- 
ing that the rule is given to the Master even by the symbol of 
the staff and the rod — the staff to support the infirmities of 
the weak — the rod to correct the faults of delinquents. — 
Damian,” he continued, “ lead the Jew to our presence.” 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a few 
minutes returned marshaling in Isaac of York. No naked 
slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty prince, could 
approach his judgment-seat with more profound reverence and 
terror than that with which the Jew drew near to the presence 
of the Grand Master. When he had approached within the 
distance of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


358 


IVANHOE. 


staff that he should come no farther. The Jew kneeled down 
on the earth, which he kissed in token of reverence ; then rising, 
stood before the Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his 
head bowed on his breast, in all the submission of Oriental 
5 slavery. 

“ Damian,” said the Grand Master, “ retire, and have a guard 
ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no one to enter the 
garden until we shall leave it.” — The squire bowed and re- 
treated. — “ Jev/,” continued the haughty old man, “mark me.^ 
10 It suits not our condition to hold with thee long communica- 
tion, nor do we waste words or time upon any one. Where- 
fore be brief in thy answers to what questions I shall ask thee, 
and let thy words be of truth ; for if thy tongue doubles with 
me, I will have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.” 

15 The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went on. 

‘ ‘ Peace, unbeliever ! — not a word in our presence, save in 
answer to our questions. — What is thy business with our 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his tale 
20 might be interpreted into scandalizing the Order; yet, unless 
he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter’s 
deliverance ? Beaumanoir saw his mortal apprehension, and 
condescended to give him some assurance. 

“ Fear nothing,” he said, “ for thy wretched person, Jew, so 
25 thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to know 
from thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

“ I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “ so please 
your reverend valor, to that good knight, from Prior Aymer 
of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

30 “Said I not these were evil times, Conrade!” said the 
Master. “ A Cistercian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of the 
Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than an unbe- 
lieving Jew, — Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his Arme- 
35 nian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tablets for the 
greater security, and was about to approach, with hand ex- 
tended and body crouched, to place it within the reach of his 
grim interrogator. 

“Back, dog I” said the Grand Master; “I touch not mis- 


IVANHOE. 


359 


believers, save with the sword — Conrade, take thou the letter 
from the Jew, and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected 
the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the pack- 
thread which secured its folds. “ Eeverend father,” said Con- 
rade, interposing, though with much deference, “wilt thou 
break the seal ? ” 

“ And will I not ? ” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. “Is it 
not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione Literarum^ 
that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no, not from his 
father, without communicating the same to the Grand Master, 
and reading it in his presence ? ” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression of 
surprise and horror ; read it over again more slowly ; then 
holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly striking 
it with the other, exclaimed — “Here is goodly stuff for one 
Christian man to write to another, and both members, and no 
inconsiderable members, of religious professions I When,” 
said he solemnly, and looking upward, “ wilt thou come with 
thy fanners to purge the thrashing-floor ? ” 

Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his Superior, and was 
about to peruse it. “ Eead it aloud, Conrade,” said the Grand 
Master, — “ and do thou ” (to Isaac) “ attend to the purport of 
it, for we will question thee concerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words : “ Aymer, 
by divine grace. Prior of the Cistercian house of Saint Mary’s 
of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the holy 
Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of King 
Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present condi- 
tion, dear Brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain law- 
less and godless men, who have not feared to detain our person, 
and put us to ransom ; whereby we have also learned of Front- 
de-Boeuf's misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair 
Jewish sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We 
are heartily rejoiced of thy safety ; nevertheless, we pray thee 
to be on thy guard in the matter of the second Witch of Endor ; 
for we are privately assured that your Great Master, wdio careth 
not a bean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, comes from Nor- 
mandy to diminish your mirth, and amend your misdoings. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


360 


IVANHOE. 


Wherefore we pray you heartily to beware, and to be found 
watching, even as the Holy Text hath it, Invenientiir vigilantes. 
And the wealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed 
of me letters in his behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advising, 
5 and in a sort entreating, that you do hold the damsel to ran- 
som, seeing he will pay you from his bags as much as may find 
fifty damsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part 
when we make merry together, as true brothers, not forgetting 
the wine- cup. For what saith the text, Vimim Icetificat cor 
10 hominis; and again, Rex delectdbitur pulchritiidine tiia, 

“ Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given 
from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins. 

“ Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis. 


15 


“ PostcriptuLi. Truly your golden chain hath not long 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of an 
outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on his 
hounds.” 


“ What sayest thou to this, Conrade ? ” said the Grand Master. 
20 — ‘‘ Ben of thieves! and a fit residence is a den of thieves for 
such a Prior. No wonder that the hand of God is upon us, and 
that in the Holy Land we lose place by place, foot by foot, be- 
fore the infidels, when we have such churchmen as this Aymer. 
— And what meaneth he, I trow, by this second Witch of 
25 Endor ? ” said he to his confidant, something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted (perhaps by practice) with 
the jargon of gallantry, than was his Superior; and he ex- 
poimded the passage which embarrassed the Grand Master, to 
be a sort of language used by worldly men towards those whom 
80 they loved par amours ; but the explanation did not satisfy the 
bigoted Beaumanoir. 

‘ ‘ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade ; thy 
simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. This 
Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom thou hast 
35 heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even now.” Then 
turning to Isaac, he said aloud, “Thy daughter, then, is pris- 
oner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

‘‘ Ay, reverend valorous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, “ and 
whatever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliverance—*” 


IVANHOE. 


861 


“ Peace ! ” said the Grand Master. “ This thy daughter hath 
practiced the art of healing, hath she not ? ” 

“ Ay, gracioussir,”answeredthe Jew, with more confidence; 
“ and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may bless the 
goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. Many a one 
can testify that she hath recovered them by her art, when 
every other human aid hath proved vain; but the blessing of 
the God of Jacob was upon her.” 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. 
“See, brother,” he said, “the deceptions of the devouring 
Enemy ! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, giv- 
ing a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal happi- 
ness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule. Semper percutiatur 
leo vorans. — Up on the lion! Down with the destroyer! ” said 
he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if in defiance of the 
powers of darkness. “Thy daughter worketh the cures, I 
doubt not,” thus he went on to address the Jew, “by words 
and sigils, and periapts, and other cabalistical mysteries.” 

“Nay, reverend and brave knight,” answered Isaac, “ but in 
chief measure by a balsam of marvelous virtue.” 

“ Where had she that secret ? ” said Beaumanoir. 

“ It w^as delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, “ by 
Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“Ah, false Jew ! was it not from that same witch Miriam, 
the abomination of whose enchantments have been heard of 
throughout every Christian land ? ” exclaimed the Grand 
Master, crossing himself. ‘ ‘ Her body was burnt at a stake, 
and her ashes were scattered to the four winds ; and so be it 
with me and mine Order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and 
more also ! I will teacli her to throw spell and incantation 
over the soldiers of the blessed Temple.— There, Damian, spurn 
this Jew from the gate — shoot him dead if he oppose or turn 
again. With his daughter we will deal as the Christian law 
and our own high office warrant.” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled from 
the preceptory ; all o£ his entreaties, and even his offers, unheard 
and disregarded. He could do no better than return to the 
house of the Pabbi, and endeavor, through his means, to 
learn how his daughter was to be disposed of. He had hitherto 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


362 


IVANHOE. 


feared for her honor, he was now to tremble for her life. 
Meanwhile, the Grand Master ordered to his presence the 
Preceptor of Templestowe. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming ; 

The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service.— All admit it, 

All practice it ; and he who is content 

With showing what he is, shall have small credit 

In church, or camp, or state.— So wags the world. 

Old Play. 

Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the language of the 
6 Order, Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was 
brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already occa- 
sionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that baron, in 
close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
10 Temple Order included but too many, Albert of Templestowe 
might be distinguished; but with this difference from the 
audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to throw over his 
vices and his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and to assume in 
his exterior the fanaticism which he internally despised. Had 
15 not the arrival of the Grand Master been so unexpectedly 
sudden, he would have seen nothing at Templestowe which 
might have appeared to argue any relaxation of discipline. 
And, even although surprised, and, to a certain extent, detected, 
Albert Malvoisin listened with such respect and apparent con- 
20 trition to the rebuke of his Superior, and made such haste to 
reform the particulars he censured, — succeeded, in fine, so well 
in giving an air of ascetic devotion to a family which had been 
lately devoted to license and pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir 
began to entertain a higher opinion of the Preceptor’s morals, 
25 than the first appearance of the establishment had inclined him 
to adopt. 

But these favorable sentiments on the part of the Grand 


rVANHOE. 


363 


Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert had 
received within a house of religion the Jewish captive, and, as 
was to be feared, the paramour of a brother of the Order; and 
when Albert appeared before him, he was regarded with un- 
wonted sternness. 5 

‘ ‘ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of the 
holy Order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, in a severe 
tone, “ a Jewish woman, brought hither by a brother of relig- 
ion, by your connivance. Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion ; for the 10 
unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a remote and secret 
part of the building, and every precaution used to prevent her 
residence there from being known. He read in the looks of 
Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he 
should be able to avert the impending storm. 15 

“ Why are you mute ? ” continued the Grand Master. 

“ Is it permitted to me to reply ? ” answered the Preceptor, 
in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the question he 
only meant to gain an instant’s space for arranging his ideas. 

“ Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master — speak 20 
and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule, — De com- 
militonihus Templi in sancta civitate^ qui cum miserrimis mu- 
lieribus versantur^ propter ohlectationem carnis f ” 

“Surely, most reverend father,” answered the Preceptor, 

‘ ‘ I have not risen to this office in the Order, being ignorant of 25 
one of its most important prohibitions.” 

‘ ‘ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that thou 
hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that para- 
mour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the stain and 
pollution thereof ? ” 30 

“A Jewish sorceress!” echoed Albert Malvoisin; “good 
angels guard us ! ” 

“ Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress ! ” said the Grand Master, 
sternly. ‘ ‘ I have said it. Barest thou deny that this Rebecca, 
the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of York, and the 35 
pupil of the foul witch Miriam, is now — shame to be thought 
or spoken ! — lodged within this thy Preceptory ? ” 

“Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the Preceptor, 
“hath rolled away the darkness from my understanding. 


364 


IVANHOE. 


Much did I wonder that so good a knight as Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the charms of this fe- 
male, whom I received into this house merely to place a bar 
betwixt their growing intimacy, which else might have been 
5 cemented at the expense of the fall of our valiant and religious 
brother. ” 

“ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in breach 
of his vow ? ” demanded the Grand Master. 

“What! under this roof?” said the Preceptor, crossing 
10 himself; — “Saint Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins 
forbid ! — No ! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it was in 
the erring thought that I might thus break off our brother’s 
besotted devotion to this Jewess, which seemed to me so wild 
and unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it to some touch 
15 of insanity, more to be cured by pity than reproof. But since 
your reverend wisdom hath discovered this Jewish quean to 
be a sorceress, perchance it may account fully for his enam- 
ored folly.” 

‘ ‘ It doth ! — it doth ! ” said Beaumanoir. ’ ‘ ‘ See, brother 
20 Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and blandish- 
ments of Satan ! We look upon woman only to gratify the 
lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what men call her 
beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the de\ouring Lion, obtains 
power over us, to complete, by talisman and spell, a work 
25 which was begun by idleness and folly. It may be that our 
brother Bois- Guilbert does in this matter deserve rather pity 
than severe chastisement ; rather the support of the staff, than 
the strokes of the rod; and that our admonitions and prayers 
may turn him from his folly, and restore him to his brethren.” 
30 “It were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Fitcliet, “ to lose to 
the Order one of its best lances, when the Holy Community 
most requires the aid of its sons. Three hundred Saracens 
hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with his own hand.” 

“ The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand Master, 
35 “shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the saints and 
angels whom they despise and blaspheme ; and with their aid 
will we counteract the spells and charms with which our 
brother is entwined as in a net. He shall burst the bands of 
this Delilah, as Samson burst the two new cords with which 


IVANHOE. 


365 


the Philistines had bound him, and shall slaughter the infidels, 
even heaps upon heaps. But concerning this foul witch, who 
hath flung her enchantments over a brother of the Holy Tem- 
ple, assuredly she shall die the death.” 

‘‘But the laws of England,” — said the Preceptor, who, 
though delighted that the Grand Master’s resentment, thus 
fortunately averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, had taken 
another direction, began now to fear he was carrying it too far. 

The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, “permit 
and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his own juris- 
diction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, and condemn 
a witch found within his own domain. And shall that power 
be denied to the Grand Master of the Temple within a pre- 
ceptory of his Order? — No! — we will judge and condemn. 
The witch shall be taken out of the land, and the wickedness 
thereof shall be forgiven. Prepare the Castle-hall for the 
trial of the sorceress.” 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, — not to give directions 
for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
and communicate to him how matters were likely to terminate. 
It was not long ere he found him, foaming with indigna- 
tion at a repulse he had anew sustained from the fair Jewess. 
“The unthinking,” he said, “the ungrateful, to scorn him 
who, amidst blood and flames, would have saved her life at 
the risk of his own ! By Heaven, Malvoisin ! I abode until 
roof and rafters crackled and crashed around me. I was the 
butt of a hundred arrows ; they rattled on mine armor like 
hailstones against the latticed casement, and the only use I 
made of my shield was for her protection. Tliis did I endure 
for her; and now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did 
not leave her to perish, and refuses me not only the slightest 
proof of gratitude, but even the most distant hope that ever 
she will be brought to grant any. The devil, tliat possessed 
her race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her 
single person ! ” 

“The devil,” said the Preceptor, “I think, possessed you 
both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if not conti- 
nence ? Did I not tell you that there Avere enough willing 
Christian damsels to be met with, who Avould think it sin to 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


366 


IVANHOE. 


refuse so brave a knight le don d'amoureux merci, and you 
must needs anchor your affection on a willful, obstinate Jewess ! 
By the mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, 
when he maintains she hath cast a spell over you.” 

5 “Lucas Beaumanoir!” said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully— 
“Are these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast thou suffered 
the dotard to learn that Eebecca is in the Preceptory ? ” 

“ How could I help it ? ” said the Preceptor. “ I neglected 
nothing that could keep secret your mystery ; but it is betrayed, 
10 and whether by the devil or no, the devil only can tell. But 
I have turned the matter as I could; you are safe if you re^ 
nounce Eebecca. You are pitied — the victim of magical 
delusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer as such.” 

“ She shall not, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 

15 “By Heaven, she must and will ! ” said Malvoisin. ‘ ‘ Neither 
you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath 
settled that the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering suf- 
ficient to atone for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights 
Templars; and thou knowest he hath both the power and will 
20 to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose.” 

“Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever ex- 
isted ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apartment. 

‘What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoisin, 
.almly; “but I know well, that in this our day, clergy and 
25 laymen, take ninety -nine to the hundred, will cry amen to the 
Grand Master’s sentence.” 

‘ ‘ I have it, ” said Bois-Guilbert. ‘ ‘ Albert, thou art my friend. 
Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I will trans- 
port her to some place of greater security and secrecy.” 

^30 “ I cannot, if I would,” replied the Preceptor; “ the mansion 

is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and others 
who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, brother, 
I would not embark with you in this matter, even if I could 
hope to bring my bark to haven. I have risked enough already 
35 for your sake. I have no mind to encounter a sentence of 
degradation, or even to lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a 
painted piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will 
be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose chase, 
and fly your hawk at some ©ther game. Think, Bois-Guilbert, 
h 


lYANHOE. 


367 


— thy present rank, thy future honors, all depend on thy place 
in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere perversely to thy passion 
for this Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the power of 
expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. He is jealous of the 
truncheon which beholds in his trembling gripe, and he knows 
^ thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. Doubt not he will 
ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so fair as thy proteC" 
tion of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his scope in this matter, 
for thou canst not control him. When the staff is in thine 
own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the daughters of Judah, 
or burn them, as may best suit thine own humor.” 

“ Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ thou art a cold-blooded — ” 

“ Friend,” said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, 
in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse 
word, — “a cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore more fit to 
give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst not 
save Rebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst but perish 
with her. Go hie thee to the Grand Master — throw thyself at 
his feet and tell him — ” . 

“ Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard’s very beard 
will I say — ” 

“ Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin, coolly, 
“ that you love this captive Jewess to distraction ; and the more 
thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater will be his haste 
to end it by the deathof the fair enchantress; while thou, taken 
in flagrant delict by the avowal of a crime contrary to thine 
oath, canst hope no aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all 
thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, to lift perhaps a 
mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels between Flanders 
and Burgundy.” 

“ Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. ‘‘I will give the hoary 
bigot no advantage over me ; and for Rebecca, she hath not 
merited at my hand that I should expose rank and honor for 
her sake. I will cast her off — yes, I will leave her to her fate, 
unless — ” 

“ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said Mab 
voisin ; ‘‘women are but the toys which amuse our lighter 
hours — ambition is the serious business of life. Perish a 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


368 


* lYANHOE. 


thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, before thy manly 
step pause in the brilliant career that lies stretched before thee I 
For the present we part, nor must we be seen to hold close con- 
versation. I must order the hall for his judgment-seat.” 

5 “ What I ” said Bois-Guilbert, “ so soon ? ” 

“ Ay,” replied the Preceptor, “ trial moves rapidly on when 
the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbei t, when he was left alone, “ thou 
art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I abandon thee to thy 
10 fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends ?— One effort will I 
make to save thee — but beware of ingratitude I for if I am 
again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal my love. The life 
and honor of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where con- 
tempt and reproaches are his only reward.” 

15 The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, when 
he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who acquainted him 
with the Grand Master’s resolution to bring the Jewess to 
instant trial for sorcery. 

“ It is surely a dream,” said the Preceptor; “ we have many 
20 Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards though they 
work wonderful cures.” 

“ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont-Fitchet ; 
“and, Albert, I will be upright with thee — wizard or not, it 
were better that this miserable damsel die, than that Brian de 
25 Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the Order, or the Order divided 
by internal dissension. Thou knowest his high rank, his fame 
in arms — thou knowest the zeal with which many of our 
brethren regard him — but all this will not avail him with our 
Grand Master, should he consider Brian as the accomplice, not 
30 the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve tribes 
in her single body, it were better she suffered alone, than that 
Bois-Guilbert were partner in her destruction.” 

“ I have been working him even now to abandon her,” said 
Malvoisin; “but still, are there grounds enough to condemn 
35 this Rebecca for sorcery? — Will not the Grand Master change 
his mind when he sees that the proofs are so weak? ” 

“ They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont-Fitchet, 
“ they must be strengthened. Dost thou understand me ? ” 

“ I do,” said the Preceptor, “ nor do I scruple to do aught for 


IVANHOE. 3G9 

advancement of the Order — but there is little time to find 
engines fitting.” 

Malvoisin, they must be found,” saidConrade; “ well will 
rt advantage both the Order and thee. This Templestowe is a 
^ poor Preceptory — that of Maison-Dieu is worth double its value 
—thou knowest my interest with our old Chief — find those 
who can carry this matter through, and thou art Preceptor of 
Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent. — How sayest thou ? ” 

‘'There are,” replied Malvoisin, “among those who came 
hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; 
servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and 
passed from his service to that of Front-de-Boeuf . It may be 
they know something of the witcheries of this woman.” 

“ Away, seek them out instantly— and hark thee, if a byzant 
or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be wanting.” 

“They would swear the mother that bore them a sorceress 
for a zecchin,” said the Preceptor. 

“Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet ; “ at noon the affair will 
proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest prepara- 
tion since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, a convert 
who relapsed to the Moslem faith.” 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, when 
Eebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private stair which 
led to her place of confinement. The noise announced the 
arrival of several persons, and the circumstance rather gave her 
joy; for she was more afraid of the solitary visits of the fierce 
and passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that could befall 
her besides. The door of the chamber was unlocked, and 
Conrade and the Preceptor Malvoisin entered, attended by four 
warders clothed in black, and bearing halberds. 

Daughter of an accursed race! ” said the Preceptor, “ arise 
and follow us.” 

“ Whither,” said Eebecca, “ and for what purpose ? ” 

“Damsel,” answered Conrade, “it is not for thee to ques- 
tion,. but to obey. Nevertheless, he it known to thee, that thou 
art to be brought before the tribunal of the Grand Master of 
our holy Order, there to answer for thine offenses.” 

“ May the God of Abraham be praised! ” said Eebecca, fold- 
ing her hands devoutly; “the name of a judge, though an 

24 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


o70 


IVANHOE. 


enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a protector. 
Most willingly do I follow thee— permit me only to wrap my 
veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, trav* 
Versed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding doors placed at 
the end, entered the great hall in which the Grand Master had 
for the time established his court of justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with 
squires and yeomen, who made way not without some difficulty 
10 for Eebecca, attended by the Preceptor and Mont-Fitchet, and 
followed by the guard of halberdiers, to move forward . to the 
seat appointed for her. As she passed through the crowd, her 
arms folded and her head depressed, a scrap of paper was 
thrust into her hand, which she received almost unconsciously, 
15 and continued to hold, without examining its contents. The 
assurance that she possessed some friend in this awful as- 
sembly gave her courage to look around, and to mark into 
whose presence she had been conducted. She gazed, accord- 
ingly, upon the scene, which we shall endeavor to describe in 
20 the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 

Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 

But sterner still, when high the iron-rod 

Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

The tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and un- 
happy Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the upper 
end of the great hall — a platform, which we have already de- 
scribed as the place of honor, destined to be occupied by the 
25 most distinguished inhabitants or guests of an ancient mansion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the 
Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of flow- 
ing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff, which borer the 
symbol of the Order. At his feet was placed a table, occupied 


IVANHOE. 


371 


by two scribes, chaplains of the Order, whose duty it was to 
reduce to formal record the proceedings of the day The black 
dresses, bare scalps, and demure looks of these churchmen, 
formed a strong contrast to the warlike appearance of the 
knights who attended, either as residing in the Preceptory, or 
as come thither to attend upon their Grand Master. The 
Preceptors, of whom there were four present, occupied seats 
lower in height, and somewhat drawn back behind that of 
their superior; and the knights, who enjoyed no such rank in 
the Order, were placed on benches still lower, and preserving 
the same distance from the Preceptors as these from the Grand 
Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais or elevated por- 
tion of the hall, stood the esquires of the Order, in white dresses 
of an inferior quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most profound 
gravity ; and in the faces of the knights might be perceived 
traces of military daring, united with the solemn carriage be- 
coming men of a religious profession, and which, in the pres- 
ence of their Grand Master, failed not to sit upon every brow. 

The remaming and lower part of the hall was filled with 
guards, holding partisans, . and with other attendants whom 
curiosity had drawn thither, to see at once a Grand Master 
and a Jewess sorceress. By far the greater part of those in- 
ferior persons were, in one rank or other, connected with the 
Order, and were accordingly distinguished by their black 
dresses. But peasants from the neighboring country were 
not refused admittance ; for it was the pride of Beaumanoir to 
render the edifying spectacle of the justice which he admin- 
istered as public as possible. His large blue eyes seemed to 
expand as he gazed around the assembly, and his countenance 
appeared elated by the conscious dignity, and imagiAry merit, 
of the part which he was about to perform. A psalm, which 
he himself accompanied with a deep mellow voice, which age 
had not deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of 
the day; and the solemn sounds, Venite exultemus Domino^ so 
often sung by the Templars before engaging with earthly ad- 
versaries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate to introduce 
the approaching triumph, for such he deemed it, over the 
powers of darkness. The deep prolonged notes, raised by a 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


372 


IVANHOE. 


hundred masculine voices accustomed to combine in the choral 
chant, arose to the vaulted roof of the hall, and rolled on 
amongst its arches with the pleasing yet solemn sound of the 
rushing of mighty waters. 

5 When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his eye 
slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat of one of 
the Preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom 
it had been occupied, had left his place, and was now standing 
near the extreme corner of one of the benches occupied by the 
10 Knights Companions of the Temple, one hand extending his long 
mantle, so as in some degree to hide his face; while the other 
held his cross-handled sword, with the point of which, sheathed 
as it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the oaken floor. 

‘ ‘ Unhappy man ! ” said the Grand Master, after favoring 
15 him with a glance of compassion. “ Thou seest, Conrade, how 
this holy work distresses him. To this can the light look of 
woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers of this world, bring 
a valiant and worthy knight ! — Seest thou he cannot look upon 
• us; he cannot look upon her; and who knows by what impulse 
20. from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic lines upon 
the floor ? — It may be our life and safety are thus aimed 
at ; but we spit at and defy the foul enemy. Semper Leo 
percutiatur ! ” 

This was communicated apart to his confldential follower, 
25 Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then raised his 
voice, and addressed the assembly. 

“ Reverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and Com- 
panions of this Holy Order, my brethren and my children ! — - 
you also, well-born and pious Esquires, who aspire to wear this 
*V) holy Cross ! — ^and you also, Christian brethren, of every degree! 
— Be it known to you, that it is not defect of power in us 
which hath occasioned the assembling of this congregation ; 
for, however unworthy in our person, yet to us is committed, 
with this batoon, full power to judge and to try all that regards 
35 the weal of this our Holy Order. Holy Saint Bernard, in the 
rule of our knightly and religious profession, hath said, in the 
fifty-ninth capital, that he would not that brethren be called 
together in council, save at the will and command of the 
Master ; leaving it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers 


lYANHOE. 


373 


who have preceded us in this our office, to judge, as well of the 
occasion as of the time and place in which a chapter of the 
whole Order, or of any part thereof, may be convoked. Also, 
in all such chapters, it is our duty tp hear the advice of our 
brethren, and to proceed according to our own pleasure. But 5 
when the raging wolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and 
carried off one member thereof, it is the duty of the kind shep" 
herd to call his comrades together, that with bows and slings 
they may quell the invader, according to our well-known rule, 
that the lion is ever to be beaten down. We have therefore 10 
summoned to our presence a Jewish woman, by name Eebecca, 
daughter of Isaac of York — a woman infamous for sortileges 
and for witcheries ; whereby she hath maddened the blood, 
and besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a Knight — not 
of a secular Knight, but of one devoted to the service of the 15 
Holy Temple — not of a Knight Companion, but of a Preceptor 
of our Order, first in honor as in place. Our brother, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, is well known to ourselves, and to all degrees 
who now hear me, as a true and zealous champion of the Cross, 
by whose arnl many deeds of valor have been wrought in the 20 
Holy Land, and the holy places purified from pollution by the 
blood of those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our 
brother’s sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his 
brethren than his valor and discipline ; in so much, that 
knights, both in eastern and western lands, have named De 25 
Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be put in nomination as 
successor to this batoon, when it shall please Heaven to release 
us from the toil of bearing it. If we were told that such a 
man, so honored, and so honorable, suddenly casting away re- 
gard for his character, his vows, his brethren, and his pros- 30 
pects, had associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in 
this lewd company, through solitary places, defended her person 
in preference to his own, and Anally, was so utterly blinded 
and besotted by his folly, as to bring her even to one of our 
own Preceptories, what should we say but that the noble 35 
knight was possessed by some evil demon, or influenced by 
some wicked spell ? — If we could suppose it otherwise, think 
not rank, valor, high repute, or any earthly consideration, 
should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, that th^ 


374 


lYANHOE. 


evil thing might he removed, even according to the text, Auferte 
malum ex vobis. For various and heinous are the acts of trans- 
gression against the rule of our blessed Order in this lament- 
able history, — 1st, He hath walked according to his proper 
5 will, contrary to capital 33, Quod nullus juxta propiam volun- 
tatem incedat. — 2d, He hath held communication with an ex- 
communicated person, capital 57, Ut fratres non participent 
cum excommunicatis^ and therefore hath a portion in Anathema 
Maranatha. — 3d, He hath conversed with strange women, con- 
10 trary to the capital, Ut fratres non conversantur cum extranets 
mulieribus. — 4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it is to 
be feared, solicited the kiss of woman ; by which, saiththe last 
rule of our renowned Order, Ut fugiantur oscula^ the soldiers 
of the Cross are brought into a snare. For which heinous and 
15 multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and 
cast out from our congregation, were he the right hand and 
right eye thereof.” 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. 
Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile at 
20 the statute De osculis fugiendis, became now grave enough, and 
anxiously waited what the Grand Master was next to propose. 

“ Such,” he said, “and so great should indeed be the punish- 
ment of a Knight Templar, who willfully offended against the 
rule9 of his Order in such weighty points. But if, by means of 
25 charms and of spells, Satan had obtained dominion over the 
Knight, perchance because he cast his eyes too lightly upon 
a damsel’s beauty, we are then rather to lament than chastise 
his backsliding; and, imposing on him only such penance as 
may purify him from his inquity, we are to turn the full edge 
30 of our indignation upon the accursed instrument, which had 
so well-nigh occasioned his utter falling away. — Stand forth, 
therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed these un- 
happy doings, that we may judge of the sum and bearing 
thereof ; and judge whether our justice may be satisfied with 
36 the punishment of this infidel woman, or M we must go on, 
with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding against our 
brother.” 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to 
which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavoring to save 


IVANHOE. 


375 


Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his personal 
defense in attending to her safety. The men gave these details 
with the exaggerations common to vulgar minds which have 
been strongly excited by any remarkable event, and their nat- 
ural disposition to the marvelous was greatly increased by the 
satisfaction which their evidence seemed to afford to the emi- 
nent person for whose information it had been delivered. Thus 
the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in themselves suf- 
ficiently great, became portentous in their narrative. The de- 
votion of the Knight to Rebecca’s defense was exaggerated 
beyond the bounds, not only of discretion, but even of the 
most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal ; and his deference to 
what she said, even although her language was often severe 
and upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess, which, in 
a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural. 

The Preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to describe 
the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the Jewess arrived 
at the Preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was skillfully 
guarded. But while he apparently studied to spare the feel- 
ings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time, such 
hints, as seemed to infer that he labored under some tempo- 
rary alienation of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enam- 
ored of the damsel whom he brought along with him. With 
sighs of penitence, the Preceptor avowed his own contrition for 
having admitted Rebecca and her lover within the walls of the 
Preceptory. — “But my defense,” he concluded, “has been 
made in my confession to our most reverend father the Grand 
Master ; he knows my motives were not evil, though my conduct 
may have been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to any pen- 
ance he shall assign me.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well. Brother Albert,” said Beaumanoir ; 
“ thy motives were good, since thou didst judge it right to ar- 
rest thine erring brother in his career of precipitate folly. But 
thy conduct was wrong ; as he that would stop a runaway steed, 
and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth in- 
jury himself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen 
paternosters are assigned by our pious founder for matins, and 
nine for vespers ; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice 
a week are Templars permitted the use of flesh ; but do thou 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


376 


IVANHOE. 


keep fast for all the seven days. This do for six weeks to 
come, and thy penance is accomplished.” 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the Pre- 
ceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his Supe- 
5 rior, and resumed his seat. 

“ Were it not well, brethren,” said the Grand Master, “ that, 
we examine something into the former life and conversation of 
. this woman, specially that we may discover whether she be 
one likely to use magical charms and spells, since the truths 
10 which we have heard may well incline us to suppose, that in > 
this unhappy course our erring brother has been acted upon by 
some infernal enticement and delusion ? ” 

Herman of Goodalricke was the Fourth Preceptor present ; 
the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois-Guilbert 
15 himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose face was 
marked with scars inflicted by the saber of the Moslemah, and 
had great rank and consideration among his brethren. He 
arose and bowed to the Grand Master, who instantly granted 
him license of speech. “ I would crave to know, most Eever- 
20 end Father, of our valiant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what 
he says to these wondrous accusations, and with what eye he 
himself now regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jewish 
maiden? ” 

“Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” said the Grand Master, “thou 
25 hearest the question which our Brother of Goodalricke desirest 
thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

“ He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand Master. 
30 “Avoid thee, Sathanas! — Speak, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I 
conjure thee, by this symbol of our Holy Order.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn and 
indignation, the expression of which, he was well aware, would 
have little availed him. “Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” he an- 
35 swered, “ replies not, most Reverend Father, to such wild and 
vague charges. If his honor be impeached, he will defend it 
with his body, and with that sword which has often fought 
for Christendom.” 

“We forgive thee. Brother Brian,” said the Grand Master; 


IVANHOE. 


377 


** though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achievements 
before us, is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and cometh of 
the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own worship. But 
thou hast our pardon, judging thou speakest less of thine own 
suggestion than from the impulse of him whom, by Heaven’s 
leave, we will quell and drive forth from our assembly.” A 
glance of disdain flashed from the dark fierce eyes of Bois- 
Guilbert, but he made no reply. — “And now,” pursued the 
Grand Master, ‘ ‘ since our Brother of Goodalricke’s question 
has been thus imperfectly answered, pursue we our qu^st, 
brethren, and with our patron’s assistance, we will search to 
the bottom this mystery of iniquity. — Let those who have 
aught to witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish 
woman, stand forth before us.” There was a bustle in the 
lower part of the hall, and when the Grand Master inquired 
the reason, it was replied, there was in the crowd a bedridden 
man, whom the prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his 
limbs, by a miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged forward to 
the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which he might 
have incurred by the guilt of having been cured of the palsy 
by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he certainly was not, 
for he supported himself forward on crutches to give evidence. 
Most unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears; 
but he admitted that two years since, when residing at York, 
he was suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, while laboring 
for Isaac the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had 
been unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by 
Rebecca's directions, and especially a warming and spicy- 
smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the use of 
his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of that 
precious ointment, and furnished him with a piece of money 
withal, to return to the house of his father, near to Temple- 
stowe. “And may it please your gracious Reverence,” said 
the man, “I cannot think the damsel meant harm by me, 
though she hath the ill hap to be a Jewess; for even when I 
used her remedy, I said the Pater and the Creed, and it never 
operated a whit less kindly.” 

“Peace, slave,” said the Grand Master, “and begone! It 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


378 


IVANHOE. 


well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinketing with 
hellish cures, and to be giving your labor to the sons of mis- 
chief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the very 
IDurpose of removing them, in order to bring into credit some 
5 diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of which 
thou speakest ? ” 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling hand, 
produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew characters on the 
lid, which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that 
10 the devil had stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossing 
himself, took the box into his hand, and, learned in most of the 
Eastern tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid , — The 
Lion of the Tribe of Judah hath conquered, “ Strange powers 
of Sathanas,” said he, “ which can convert Scripture into blas- 
15 phemy , mingling poison with our necessary food I — Is there 
no leech here who can tell us the ingredients of this mystic 
unguent? ” 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a monk 
the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they knew nothing 
20 of the materials, excepting that they savored of myrrh and 
camphire, which they took to be Oriental herbs. But witli 
the true professional hatred to a successful practitioner of their 
art, they insinuated that, since the medicine was beyond their 
own knowledge, it must necessarily have been compounded 
25 from an unlawful and magical pharmacopoeia ; since they them- 
selves, though no conjurers, fully understood every branch of 
their art, so far as it might be exercised with the good faith of 
a Christian. When this medical research was ended, the 
Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back the medicine 
30 which he had found so salutary ; but the Grand Master frowned 
severely at the request. ‘ ‘ What is thy name, fellow ? ” said 
he to the cripple. 

“ Higg, the son of Snell,” answered the peasant. 

‘‘Then Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, “I tell 
35 thee it is better to be bedridden, than to accept the benefit of 
unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest arise and walk; better 
to despoil infidels of their treasure by the strong hand, than 
to accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them service for 
wages. Go thou, and do as I have said.” 


IVANHOE. 


37b 


“ Alack,” said the peasant,' “ an it shall not displease your 
Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am but a 
maimed man ; but I will tell my two brethren, who serve the 
rich Rabbi Nathan Ben Samuel, that your mastership says it 
is more lawful to rob him than to render him faithful service.” 5 

“ Out with the prating villain! ” said Beaumanoir, who was 
not prepared to refute this practical application of his general 
maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, inter- 
ested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he should IG 
learn her doom, even at the risk of again encountering the 
frown of that severe judge, the terror of which withered his 
very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded 
Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first time, 15 
she replied patiently, but with dignity, — ‘‘ That it was not the 
wont of the daughters of her people to uncover their faces 
when alone in an assembly of strangers.” The sweet tones of 
her voice, and the softness of her reply, impressed on the audi- 
ence a sentiment of pity and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in 20 
whose mind the suppression of each feeling of humanity which 
could interfere with his imagined duty, was a virtue of itself, 
repeated his commands that his victim should be unveiled. 

The guards were about to remove her veil accordingly, when 
she stood up before the Grand Master and said, “ Nay, but for 25 
the love of your own daughters — Alas,” she said, recollecting 
herself, “ ye have no daughters! — yet for the remembrance of 
your mothers — for the love of your sisters, and of female 
decency, let me not be thus handled in your presence; it suits 
not a maiden to be disrobed by such rude grooms. I will obey 30 
you,” she added, with an expression of patient sorrow in her 
voice, which had almost melted the heart of Beaumanoir him- 
self ; “ ye are elders among your people, and at your command 
I will show the features of an ill-fated maiden.” 

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a counte- 35 
nance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her ex- 
ceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and the younger 
knights told each other with their eyes, in silent correspond- 
ence, that Brian’s best apology was in the power of her real 


380 


lYANHOE. 


charms, rather than of her imaginary witchcraft. But Higg, 
the son of Snell, felt most deeply the effect produced by the 
sight of the countenance of his benefactress. “Let me go 
forth,” he said to the warders at the door of the hall, — “ let 
5 me go forth ! — To look at her again will kill me, for I have had 
a share in murdering her.” 

“Peace, poor man,” said Eebecca, when she heard his ex- 
clamation; “ thou hast done me no harm by speaking the truth 
—thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or lamentations. 
10 Peace, I pray thee — go home and save thyself.” 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the 
wardei’^, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief 
should draw upon them reprehension, and upon himself pun- 
ishment. But he promised to be silent, and was permitted to 
15 remain. The two men-at-arms, with whom Albert Malvoisin 
had not failed to communicate upon the import of their testi- 
mony, were now called forward. Though both were hardened 
and inflexible villains, the sight of the captive maiden, as well 
as her excelling beauty, at first appeared to stagger them ; but 
20 an expressive glance from the Preceptor of Templestowe re- 
stored them to their 'dogged composure; and they delivered, 
with a precision which would have seemed suspicious to more 
impartial judges, circumstances either altpgether fictitious, or 
trivial and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant with 
25 suspicion by the exaggerated manner in which they were told, 
and the sinister commentary which the witnesses added to the 
facts. The circumstances of their evidence would have been, 
in modern days, divided into two classes — those which were 
immaterial, and those which were actually and physically im- 
30 possible. But both were, in those ignorant and superstitious 
times, easily credited as proofs of guilt. — The first class set; 
forth, that Eebecca was heard to mutter to herself in an un- 
known tongue — that the songs she sung by fits were of a 
strangely sweet sound, which made the ears of the hearer tingle^ 
35 and his heart throb — that she spoke at times to herself, and 
seemed to look upward for a reply — that her garments were of 
a strange and mystic form, unlike those of women of good re- 
pute— that she had rings impressed with cabalistical devices,^ 
and that strange characters were broidered on her veil. 


Wanhoe. 


381 


All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or, at least, as affording strong 
suspicions that Rebecca had unlawful correspondence with 
mystical powers. 

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credulity 
of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swallowed, 
however incredible. One of the soldiers had seen her work a 
cure upon a wounded man, brought with them to the castle of 
Torquilstone. She did, he said, make certain signs upon the 
wound, and repeated certain mysterious words, which he 
blessed God he understood not, when the iron head of a square 
crossbow bolt disengaged itself from the wound, the bleeding 
was stanched, the wound was closed, and the dying man was, 
within a quarter of . an hour, walking upon the ramparts, and 
assisting the witness in managing a mangonel, or machine for 
hurling stones. This legend was probably founded upon the 
fact, that Rebecca had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe when 
in the castle of Torqhilstone. But it was the rciore difficult to 
dispute the accuracy of the witness, as, in order to produce 
real evidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drew from 
his pouch the very bolt-head, which, according to his story, 
had been miraculously extracted from the wound ; and as the 
iron weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, 
however marvelous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighboring battle- 
ment of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert, when 
she was upon the point of precipitating herself from the top 
of the tower. Not to be behind his companion, this fellow 
stated, that he had seen Rebecca perch herself upon the parapet 
. of the turret, and there take the form of a milk-white swan, 
under which appearance she flitted three times round Hie 
castle of Torquilstone ; then again settle on the turret, and 
once more assume the female form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have been 
sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, even 
though she had not been a Jewess. United with that fatal 
circumstance, the body of proof was too weighty for Rebecca’s 
youth, though combined with the most exquisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now in 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


382 


IVANHOE. 


a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to say 
against the sentence of condemnation, which he was about to 
pronounce. 

“To invoke your pity,” said the lovely Jewess, with a voice 
5 somewhat tremulous with emotion, “ would, I am aware, be as 
useless as I should hold it mean. To state that to relieve the 
sick and wounded of another religion, cannot be displeasing to 
the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths, were also un- 
availing; to plead that many things which these men (whom 
10 may Heaven pardon!) have spoken against me are impossible, 
would avail me but little, since you believe in their possibility ; 
and still less would it advantage me to explain, that the pecul- 
iarities of my dress, language, and manners, are those of my 
people — I had well-nigh said of my country, but alas ! we have 
15 no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the expense 
of my oppressor, who stands there listening to the fictions and 
surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into the victim. — 
God be judge between him and me I but rather would I sub- 
mit to ten such deaths as your pleasure may denounce against 
20 me, than listen to the suit which that man of Belial has urged 
upon me — friendless, defenseless, and his prisoner. But he is 
of your own faith, and his lightest affirmance would weigh 
down the most solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. 
I will not therefore return to himself the charge brought 
25 against me — but to himself — Yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to 
thyself I appeal, whether these accusations are not false ? as 
monstrous and calumnious as they are deadly ? ” 

There was a pause ; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
He was silent. 

30 “ Speak,” she said, “ if thou art a man — if thou art a Chris- 

tian, speak ! — I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost 
wear, by the name thou dost inherit — by the knighthood thou 
dost vaunt — by the honor of thy mother — by the tomb and 
the bones of thy father — I conjure thee to say, are these things 
35 true ? ” 

“Answer her, brother,” said the Grand Master, “if the 
Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending pas- 
sions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was with a 


IVANHOE. 383 

constrained voice that at last he replied, looking to Rebecca, — 
“ The scroll ! — the scroll ! ” 

“Ay,” said Beaumanoir, “this is indeed testimony! The 
victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, the 
spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his silence.” 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words extorted 
as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her eye upon the 
slip of parchment which she continued to hold in her hand, she 
read written thereupon in the Arabian character, Demand a 
Champion ! The murmuring commentary which ran through 
the assembly at the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert, gave Rebecca 
leisure to examine and instantly to destroy the scroll un- 
observed. When the whisper had ceased, the Grand Master 
spoke. 

‘ ‘ Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence of 
this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the Enemy 
is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say? ” 

“ There is yet one chance of life left to me,” said Rebecca, 
“ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable — 
miserable, at least, of late — but I will not cast away the gift 
of God, while he affords me the means of defending it. I deny 
this charge — I maintain my innocence, and I declare the false- 
hood of this accusation. — I challenge the privilege of trial by 
combat, and will appear by my champion.” 

“ And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, “ will lay 
lance in rest for a sorceress ? Who will be the champion of a 
Jewess? ” 

“God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. “It 
cannot be that in merry England— the hospitable, the generous, 
the free, where so many are ready to peril their lives for honor, 
there will not be found one to fight for justice. But it is 
enough that I challenge the trial by combat — there lies my 
gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung it 
down before the Grand Master with an air of mingled simplicity 
and dignity, which excited universal surprise and admiration. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


384 


IVANHOE. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremes! point 
Of martial daring. 

Richard II, 

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien 
and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a cruel or 
even a severe man; but with passions by nature cold, and 
with a high, though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had been 
6 gradually hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, the 
supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity 
of subduing infidelity and eradicating heresy, which he con- 
ceived peculiarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed in 
their usual severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creature 
10 before him, alone, unfriended, and defending herself with so 
much spirit and courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubt- 
ing whence arose the unwonted softening of a heart, which on 
such occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of his 
sword. At length he spoke. 

15 “Damsel,” he said, “ if the pity I feel for thee arise from 
any practice thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy 
guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of nature, 
which grieves that so goodly a form should be a vessel of per- 
dition. Repent, my daughter — confess thy witchcrafts — turn 
20 thee from thine evil faith — embrace this holy emblem, and all 
shall yet be well with thee here and hereafter. In some sister- 
hood of the strictest order, shalt thou have time for prayer and 
fitting penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This 
do and live — what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou 
26shouldest die for it? ” 

“ It was the la\y of my fathers,” said Rebecca; “ it was de- 
livered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of Sinai, 
in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye believe — it 
is, you say, recalled; but so my teachers have not taught me.” 
30 “ Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “stand forth, and tell 

this obstinate infidel — ” 

“ Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca, meekly; “ I am a 


ivanhoe. 


385 


maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can die for 
it, if it be God’s will. — Let me pray your answer to my demand 
of the champion.” 

“ Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “ This is indeed,” 
he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and slender 
Angers, ‘ ‘ a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly I — 
Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light glove of thine is to 
one of ^our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the 
Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast defled.” 

“ Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Rebecca, “ and 
the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron.” 

“ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, 
and in that bold challenge which thou hast made ? ” 

“ I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

‘‘So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the Grand 
Master ; ‘ ‘ and may God show the right ! ” 

“ Amen,” replied the Preceptors around him, and the word 
was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“ Brethren,” said Beaumanoir, “ you are aware that we might 
well have refused to this woman the benefit of the trialby com- 
bat — but though a Jewess and an unbeliever, she is also a 
stranger and defenseless, and God forbid that she should ask 
the benefit of our mild laws, and that it should be refused to 
her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers, as well as men of 
religion, and shame it were to us upon any pretense, to refuse 
proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, 
the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and sus- 
picious circumstances defamed of sorcery practiced on the per^ 
son of a noble knight of our holy Order, and hath challenged 
the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, reverend 
brethren, is it your opinion that we should deliver the gage of 
battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our champion on 
the field ? ” 

“ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,” said 
the Preceptor of Goodalricke, “ and who, moreover, best knows 
how the truth stands in this matter.” 

“But if,” said the Grand Master, “our brother Brian be 
under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak but for 
the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy Order 
25 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


38(5 


IVANIIOE. 


would we more willingly confide this or a more weighty 
cause.” 

“ Reverend father,” answered the Preceptor of Goodalricke, 
“no spell can affect the champion who comes forward to fight 
5 for the judgment of God.” 

“ Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Master. 
“ Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. — It is our charge to thee, brother,” he continued, 

1 addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou do thy battle 
10 manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph. 
— And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third 
day from the present to find a champion.” 

“ That is but brief space,” answered Rebecca, ‘ ‘ for a stranger, 
who is also of another faith, to find one who will do battle, 
15 wagering life and honor for her cause, against a knight who is 
called an approved soldier.” 

“We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Master; “ the 
field must be foughten in our own presence, and divers weighty 
causes call us on the fourth day from hence.” 

20 “ God’s will be done 1 ” said Rebecca; “I put my trust in 

Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole age.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand Master; 
“ but well know we who can array himself like an angel of 
light. It remains but to name a fitting place of combat, and , 
25 if it so hap, also of execution. — Where is the Preceptor of this 
house ? ” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in his hand, 
was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low voice. 

“Howl” said the Grand Master, “ will he not receive the 
30 gage?” 

“ He will — he doth, most Reverend Father,” said Malvoisin, 
slipping the gloVe under his own mantle. ‘ ‘ And for the place 
of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of Saint George 
belonging to this Preceptory, and used by us for military 
35 exercise.” 

“ It is well,” said the Grand Master. — “Rebecca, in those 
lists shalt thou produce thy champion ; and if thou failest to 
do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment 
of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according 


IVANHOE. 387 

to doom. — Let this our judgment be recorded, and the record 
read aloud, that no one may pretend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to the chapter, 
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which con- 
tained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when solemnly 6 
assembled on such occasions ; and when he had finished writ- 
ing, the other read aloud the sentence of the Grand Master, 
which, when translated from the Norman-French in which it 
was couched, was expressed as follows : — 

“Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being at- 10 
tainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, 
practiced on a Knight of the most Holy Order of the Temple of 
Zion, doth deny the same; and saith, that the testimony de- 
livered against her this day is false, wicked, and disloyal ; and 
that by lawful essoine of her body as being unable to combat 15 
in her own behalf, she doth offer, by a champion instead 
thereof, to avouch her case, he performing his loyal devoir in 
all knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of battle do fully 
appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And therewith she 
proffered her gage. And the gage having been delivered to 20 
the noble Lord and Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, of the 
Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, he was appointed to do this 
battle, in behalf of his Order and himself, as injured and im- 
paired by the practices of the appellant. Wherefore the most 
reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas Marquis of Beau- 25 
manoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said essoine 
of the appellant’s body, and assigned the third day for the said 
combat, the place being the inclosure called the lists of Saint 
George, near to the Preceptory of Templestowe. And the 
Grand Master appoints the appellant to appear there by her 30 
champion, on pain of doom, as a person convicted of sorcery 
or seduction ; and also the defendant so to appear, under the 
penalty of being held and adjudged recreant in case of default ; 
and the noble Lord and most reverend Father aforesaid ap- 
pointed the battle to be done in his own presence, and accord- 35 
ing to all that is commendable and profitable in such a case. 
And may God aid the just cause ! ” 

“ Amen!” said the Grand Master; and the word was echoed 
by all around. Rebecca spoto not, but she looked up to 


388 


IVANHOE. 


heaven, and, folding her hands, remained for a minute without 
change of attitude. She then modestly reminded the Grand 
Master that she ought to be permitted some opportunity of free 
communication with her friends, for the purpose of making 
5 her condition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some 
champion to fight in her behalf. 

“It is just and lawful,” said the Grand Master; “choose 
what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free com- 
munication with thee in thy prison-chamber.” 

10 “Is there,” said Rebecca, “any one here who, either for 
love of a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of 
a distressed being ? ” 

All were silent ; for none thought it safe, in the presence of 
the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated 
15 prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Juda- 
ism. Not even the prospect of reward, far less any feehngs of 
compassion alone, could surmount this apprehension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, 
and then exclaimed, “ It is really thus ? — And, in English land, 
20 am I to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which remains 
to me, for want of an act of charity which would not be re- 
fused to the worst criminal ? ” 

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “ I am but a maimed 
man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to herchari- 
25 table assistance. — I will do thine errand,” he added, addressing 
Rebecca, “as well as a crippled object can, and happy were 
my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done by my tongue. 
Alas! when I boasted of thy charity, I little thought I was 
leading thee into danger! ” 

oO “ God,” said Rebecca, “ is the disposer of all. He can turn 
back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. 
To execute his message the snail is as sure a messenger as the 
falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here is that will pay for 
horse and man — let him have this scroll. — I know not if it be 
35 of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I 
judge that I am not to die this death, and that a champion will be 
raised up for me. Farewell ! — Life and death are in thy haste. ” 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded 


IVANHOE. 


389 


him from touching a document so suspicious ; but Higg was 
resolute in the service of his benefactress. She had saved his 
body, he said, and he was confident she did not mean to peril 
his soul. 

“ I will get me,” he said, “ my neighbor Buthan’s good capul, 
and I will be at York within as brief space as man and beast 
may.” 

But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for with- 
in a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory he met 
with two riders, whom, by their dress and their huge yellow 
caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, 
discovered that one of them was his ancient employer, Isaac of 
York. The other was the Rabbi Ben Samuel; and both had 
approached as near to the Preceptory as they dared, on hear- 
ing that the Grand Master had summoned a chapter for the 
trial of a sorceress. 

“ Brother Ben Samuel,” said Isaac, “my soul is disquieted. 
And I wot not why. This charge of necromancy is right often 
used for cloaking evil practices on our people.” 

“Be of good comfort, brother,” said the physician; “thou 
canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the mammon 
of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase immunity at 
their hands— it rules the savage minds of those ungodly men, 
even as the signet of the mighty Solomon was said to com- 
mand the evil genii.— But what poor wretch conies hither upon 
his crutches, desiring, as I think, some speech of me ? — 
Friend,” continued the physician, addressing Higg, the son of 
Snell, “ I refuse thee not the aid of mine art, but I relieve not 
with one asper those who beg for alms upon the highway. 
Out upon thee! — Hast thou the palsy in thy legs ? then let 
thy hands work for thy livelihood ; for, albeit thou be’st unfit 
for a speedy post, or for a careful shepherd, or for the war- 
fare, or for the service of a hasty master, yet there be occu- 
pations — How now, brother ? ” said he, interrupting his 
harangue to look towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the 
scroll which Higg offered, when uttering a deep groan, he fell 
from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible. 

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recovery 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


390 


IVANHOE. 


of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket a cup- 
ping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebotomy, when 
the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but it 
was to dash his cap from his head, and to throw dust on his 
5 gray hairs. The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this 
sudden and violent emotion to the effects of insanity; and, ad- 
hering to his original purpose, began once again to handle his 
implements. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error. 

‘‘Child of my sorrow,” he said, “well shouldst thou be 
13 called Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death 
bring down my gray hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness 
of my heart, I curse God and die ! ” 

“Brother,” said the Rabbi, in great surprise, “art thou a 
father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these ? — I 
15 trust that the child of thy house yet liveth ? ” 

“She liveth,” answered Isaac; “but it is as Daniel, who 
was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den of the 
lions. She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they will 
wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth nor 
20 her comely favor. O! she was as a crown of green palms to 
my gray locks ; and she must wither in a night, like the gourd 
of Jonah! — Child of my love!— child of my old age! — oh, 
Rebecca, daughter of Rachel ! the darkness of the shadow of 
death hath encompassed thee.” 

23 “Yet read the scroll,” said the Rabbi; “ perad venture it 
may be that we may yet find OMt a way of deliverance.” 

“Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “for mine eyes 
are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, the follow- 
30 ing words:— 

“To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call 
Isaac of York, peace, and the blessing of the promise be multi- 
plied unto thee ! — My father, I am as one doomed to die for that 
which my soul knoweth not — even for the crime of witch- 
35 craft. My father, if a strong man can be found to do battle 
for my cause with sword and spear, according to the custom 
of the Nazarenes, and that within the lists of Templestowe, on 
the third day from this time, peradventure our fathers’ God 
will give him strength to defend the innocent, and her who 


IVANHOE. 


391 


hath none to help her. But if this may not be, let the virgins 
of our people mourn for me as for one cast off, and for the hart 
that is stricken by the hunter, and for the flower which is cut 
down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore look now what 
thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One Nazarene 
warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, 
son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may 
not yet endure the weight of his armor. Nevertheless, send 
the tidings unto him, my father; for he hath favor among the 
strong men of his people, and as he was our companion in the 
house of bondage, he may And some one to do battle for my 
sake. And say unto him, even unto him, even unto Wilfred, 
the son of Cedric, that if Eebecca live, or if Eebecca die, she 
liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. 
And if it be the will of God that thou shalt be deprived of thy 
daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in this land of bloodshed 
and cruelty; but betake thyself to Cordova, where thy brother 
liveth in safety, under the shadow of the throne, even of the 
throne of Boabdil the Saracen ; for less cruel are the cruelties 
of the Moors unto the race of Jacob than the cruelties of the 
Nazarenes of England.” 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel 
read the letter, and then again resumed the gestures and ex- 
clamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, besprin- 
kling his head with dust, and ejaculating, “ My daughter! my 
daughter! flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone! ” 

“ Yet,” said the Eabbi, “take courage, for this grief availeth 
nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, the son 
of Cedric. It may be he will help thee with counsel or with 
strength ; for the youth hath favor in the eyes of Eichard, 
called of the Nazarenes Coeur-de-Lion, and the tidings that he 
hath returned are constant in the land. It may be that he 
may obtain his letter, and his signet, commanding these men of 
blood, who take their name from the Temple to the dishonor 
thereof, that they proceed not in their purposed wickedness.” 

“ I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “ for he is a good youth, 
and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he cannot 
bear his armor, and what other Christian shall do battle for 
the oppressed of Zion ? ” 


I 5 

I 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


392 


IVANHOE. 


“ Nay, but,” said the Rabbi, “ fchou speakest as one that 
knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their 
valor, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. Be of 
good courage, and do thou set forward to find out this Wilfred 
5 of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for great sin it were 
to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie me to the city of 
York, where many warriors and strong men are assembled, and 
doubt not I will find among them some one who will do battle 
for thy daughter; for gold is their god, and for riches will they 
10 pawn their lives as well as their lands. — Thou wilt fulfill, my 
brother, such promise as I may make unto them in thy 
name ? ” 

“Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, “and Heaven be praised 
that raised me up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, grant 
15 them not their full demand at once, for thou shalt find it the 
quality of this accursed people that they will ask pounds and 
peradventure accept of ounces. Nevertheless, be it as thou 
wiliest, for I am distracted in this thing, and what would my 
gold avail me if the child of my love should perish ! ” 

20 “Farewell,” said the physician, “ and may it be to thee as 
thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several 
roads. The crippled peasant remained for some time looking 
after them. 

25 “ These dog- Jews! ” said he; “ to take no more notice of a 

free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or a Turk or a 
circumcised Hebrew like themselves I They might have filing 
me a mancus or two, however. I was not obliged to bring 
their unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk of being bewitched, 
30 as more folks than one told me. And what care I for the bit 
of gold that the wench gave me, if I am to come to harm from 
the priest next Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him 
twice as much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew’s 
fiying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain ? I 
35 think I was bewitched in earnest when I was beside that girl. 
— But it was always so with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came 
near her — none could stay when she had an errand to go — 
and still, whenever I think of her, I would give shop and tools 
to save her life,” 


IVANHOE. 


393 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, 
My bosom is proud as thine own. 


Seward. 


It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could 
be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at 
the door of Rebecca’s prison-chamber. It disturbed not the 
inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recom- 
mended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn we 5 
have ventured to translate into English. 


When Israel, of the Lord beloved. 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

Her fathers’ God before her moved. 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the flery column’s glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise. 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen. 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays. 

With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 

No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 


But, present still, though now unseen ; 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night. 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams. 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn ; 

No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 


394 


IVANHOE. 


But Thou hast said, the blood of ^oat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 

A contrite heart, and humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacriflca 

5 When the sounds of Eebecca’s devotional hymn had died 
away in silence, the low knock at the door was again renewed. 
“ Enter,'’ she said, “if thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have 
not the means of refusing thy entrance.” 

“lam,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apart- 
10 ment, “ friend or foe, Eebecca, as the event of this interview 
shall make me.” 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion 
she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Eebecca drew 
backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous, de- 
15 meanor, into the farthest corner of the apartment, as if deter- 
mined to retreat as far as she could, but to stand her ground 
when retreat became no longer possible. She drew herself into 
an attitude not of defiance, but of resolution, as one that would 
avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being of- 
20 fered, to the utmost of her power. 

“ You have no reason to fear me, Eebecca,” said the Templar; 
“ or if I must so qualify my speech, you have at least now no 
reason to fear me.” 

“ I fear you not. Sir Knight,” replied Eebecca, although her 
25 short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents ; 
“ my trust is strong and I fear thee not.” 

“You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; 
“my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. 
Within your call are guards, over whom I have no authority. 
30 They are designed to conduct you to death, Eebecca, yet would 
not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me, were my 
frenzy — for frenzy it is — to urge me so far.” 

“May Heaven be praised! said the Jewess; “ death is the 
least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

35 “Ay,” replied the Templar, “ the idea of death is easily re- 

ceived by the courageous mind, when the road to it is sudden 
and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a sword, were 
to me little. To you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a stroke 
with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, compared with what either 


IVANHOE. 


395 


thinks disgrace. Mark me — I say this — perhaps mine own 
sentiments of honor are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine 
are; but we know alike how to die for them.” 

“Unhappy man,” said the Jewess; “and art thou con- 
demned to expose thy life for principles, of which thy sober 
judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this is 
a parting with your treasure for that which is not bread — but 
deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on the wild 
and changeful billows of human opinion, but mine is anchored 
on the Rock of Ages.” 

“ Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar ; “ such discourse 
now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden 
and easy death, such as misery chooses, and despair welcomes, 
but a slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited to 
what the diabolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime.” , 

“ And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I owe this ? ” 
said Rebecca; “ surely only to him, who, for a most selflsh and 
brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, for some 
unknown purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate the 
wretched fate to which he exposed me.” 

“Think not,” said the Templar, “that I have so exposed 
thee; I would have buckled thee against such danger with 
my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts 
which had otherwise reached thy life.” 

‘ ‘ Had thy purpose been the honorable protection of the 
innocent,” said Rebecca, “ I have thanked thee for thy care — 
as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often, that I tell thee 
life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price which thou 
wouldst exact for it.” 

“Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,” said the Templar; 
“I have my own cause of grief , and brook not that thy re- 
proaches should add to it.” 

“ What is thy purpose, then. Sir Knight ? ” said the Jewess; 
“speak it briefly. — If thou hast aught to do, save to witness 
the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so 
it please you, leave me to myself — the step between time and 
eternity is short but terrible, and I have few moments to 
prepare for it.” 

“I perceive, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, “that thou dost 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


396 


IVAN HOE. 


continue to burden me with the charge of distresses, which 
most fain would I have prevented.” 

“Sir Knight,” said Eebecca, “I would avoid reproaches. 
But what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine 
b unbridled passion? ” 

“You err — you err,” — said the Templar, hastily, “if you 
impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose 
or agency. — Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, 
whom some flashes of frantic valor, and the praises yielded by 
10 fools to the stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for 
the present above his own merits, above common sense, above 
me, and above the hundreds of our Order, who think and feel 
as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the 
grounds of his opinions and actions ? ” 

15 “Yet,” said Eebecca, “you sate a judge upon me, inno- 
cent — most innocent — as you knew me to be — you concurred 
in my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself 
to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment. ” 

“Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. — “No race 
20 knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, 
and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an 
adverse wind.” 

“Lamented be the hour,” said Eebecca, “that has taught 
such art to the House of Israel ! but adversity bends the heart 
25 as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no longer 
their own governors, and the denizens of their own free inde- 
pendent state, must crouch before strangers. It is our curse. 
Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and 
those of our fathers ; but you — you who boast your freedom as 
30 your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace when you 
stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your 
own conviction ? ” 

“Your words are bitter, Eebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
pacing the apartment with impatience, “ but I came not hither 
35 to bandy reproaches with you. — Know that Bois-Guilbert 
yields not to created man, although circumstances may for a 
time induce him to alter his plan. His will is the mountain 
stream, which may indeed be turned for a little space aside 
by the rock, but fails not to find its course to the ocean. That 


IVANHOE. 


397 


scroll which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom 
couldst thou think it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In 
whom else couldst thou have excited such interest? ” 

‘‘ A brief respite from instant death,” said Rebecca, “ which 
will little avail me — was this all thou couldst do for one, on 
whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast 
brought nej^r even to the verge of the tomb ? ” 

“ No, maiden,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ this was not all that I 
purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of 
yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, being i(> 
a Templar, affects to think and judge according to the ordinary 
rules of humanity, the office of the Champion Defender had 
devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companion of the Order. 
Then I myself — such was my purpose — had, on the sounding 
of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, dis- 15 
guised indeed in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks 
adventure to prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beau- 
manoir have chosen not one, but two or three of the brethren 
here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of the 
saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine in- 20 
nocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude would 
1 have trusted for the reward of my victory.’* 

“ This, Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ is but idle -Poasting — a 
brag of what you would have done had you not found it con- 
venient to dd otherwise. You received my glove, and my 25 
champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, must en- 
counter your lance in the lists — yet you would assume the air 
of my friend and protector ! ” 

“Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, gravely, “I 
will yet be — but mark at what risk, or rather at what cer- 3,3 
tainty, of dishonor; and then blame me not if I make my 
stipulations, before I offer up all that I have hitherto held dear, 
to save the life of a Jewish maiden.” 

“ Speak,” said Rebecca; “ I understand thee not.” 

“ Well, then,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ I will speak as freely as 35 
ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in 
the tricky confessional. — Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists 
I lose fame and rank — lose that which is the breath of my 
nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by my breth- 


398 


IVANHOE. 


ren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to that mighty au- 
thority, which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de 
Beaumanoir, but of which I should make a far different use. 
Such is my certain doom, except I appear in arms against thy 
5 cause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baited this trap 
for me ! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who with- 
held me from the resolution I had formed, of hurling back the 
glove at the face of the superstitious and superannuated fool, 
who listened to a charge so absurd, and against a creature so 
10 high in mind, and so lovely in form as thou art! ” 

“ And what now avails rant or flattery ? ” answered Eebecca. 
** Thou hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the 
blood of an innocent woman, or of endangering thine own 
earthly state and earthly hopes. What avails it to reckon to- 
ISgether ? — thy choice is made.” 

“ No, Eebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, and draw- 
ing nearer towards her; “my choice is not made — nay, mark, 
it is thine to make the election. If I appear in the lists, I must 
maintain my name in arms; and if I do so, championed or un- 
20 championed, thou diest by the stake and fagot, for there lives 
not the knight who hath coped with me in arms on equal issue, 
or on terms of vantage, save Eichard Coeur-de-Lion, and his 
minion of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable 
to bear his corselet, and Eichard is in a foreign prison. If I 
25 appear, then thou diest, even although thy charms should in- 
stigate some hot-headed youth to enter the lists in thy defense.” 

“ And what avails repeating this so often ? ” said Eebecca. 

“ Much,” replied the Templar; “ for thou must learn to look 
at thy fate on every side.” 

30 “ Well, then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, “and let 

me see the other side.” 

“ If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ in the fatal lists, thou 
diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say is 
destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear not, then am 
35 I a degraded and dishonored knight, accused of witchcraft 
and of communion with infldels — the illustrious name, which 
has grown yet more so under my wearing, becomes a hissing 
and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose honor, I lose the prospect 
of such greatness as scarce emperors attain to — I sacrifice 


IVANHOE. 


399 


mighty ambition, I destroy schemes built as high as the moun- 
tains with which heathens say their heaven was once nearly 
scaled — and yet, Rebecca,” he added, throwing himself at her 
feet, ‘ ‘ this greatness will I sacrifice, this fame will I renounce, 
this power will I forego, even now when it is half within my D 
grasp, if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my 
lover,” 

“ Think not of such foolishness. Sir Knight,” answered 
Rebecca, “but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, and to 
Prir^e John — they cannot, in honor to the English crown, 10 
allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So shall you 
give me protection without sacrifice on your part, or the pre- 
text of requiring any requital from me.” 

“ With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the train of 
her robe — ^“it is thee only I address; and what can counter- 15 
balance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is 
a worse, and it is death who is my rival.” 

“ I weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to provoke 
the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his 
passion, nor even feign to endure it. “ Be a man, be a Chris- 20 
tian ! If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy which rather 
your tongues than your actions pretend, save me from this 
dreadful death, without seeking a requital which would change 
thy magnanimity into base barter.” 

“ No, damsel ! ” said the proud Templar, springing up, “ thou 25 
shalt not thus impose on me — if I renounce present fame and 
future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and we will escape 
in company. " Listen to me, Rebecca,” he said, again softening 
/histone; “England, — Europe, — is not the world. There are 
spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambi- 30 
*tion. We will go to Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of 
Montserrat, is my friend — a friend free as myself from the 
doting scruples which fetter our free-born reason — rather with 
Saladin will we league ourselves, than endure the scorn of the 
bigots whom we contemn. — I will form new paths to great- 35 
ness,” he continued, again traversing the room with hasty 
strides— “ Europe shaK hear the loud step of him she has 
driven from her sons!— Not the millions whom her crusaders 
send to slaughter, can do so much to defend Palestine — not 


400 


IVANHOE. 


the sabers of the thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can 
hew their way so deep into that land for which nations are 
striving, as the strength and policy of me and those brethren, 
who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in good 
5 and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca — on Mount Carmel 
shall we pitch the throne which my valor will gain for you, 
and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a scepter! ” 

“ A dream,” said Rebecca; “an empty vision of the night, 
which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, tliat 
10 the power which thou mightest acquire, I will never share ; noi' 
hold I so light of country or religious faith, as to esteem him 
who is willing to barter these ties, and cast away the bonds of 
the Order of which he is a sworn member, in order to gratify 
an unruly passion for the daughter of another people. — Put not 
15 a price on my deliverance. Sir Knight — sell not a deed of gen^ 
erosity — protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, and not 
for a selfish advantage. — Goto the throne of England; Richard 
will listen to my appeal from these cruel men.” 

“Never, Rebecca!” said the Templar, fiercely. “If Ire- 
20 nounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce it. Ambi- 
tion shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love ; I will not be 
fooled on all hands. — Stoop my crest to Richard? — ask a boon 
of that heart of pride? — Never, Rebecca, will I place the Order 
of the Temple at his feet in my person. I may forsake the 
25 Order, I never will degrade or betray it.” 

“ Now God be gracious to me,” said Rebecca, “ for the suc- 
cor of man is well-nigh hopeless ! ” 

“ It is indeed,” said the Templar; “ for, proud as thou art, . 
thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists with m v 
30 spear in rest, think not any human consideration shall prevent ’ 
my putting forth my strength ; and think then upon thine own 
fate — to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals — to- 
be consumed upon a blazing pile — dispersed to the elements 
of which our strange forms are so mystically composed — not a 
35 relic left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this 
lived and moved ! — Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this 
prospect — thou wilt yield to my suit.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered the Jewess, “thou knowest not 
the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those who are* 


lYANHOE. 


401 


lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud Templar, that not 
in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted 
courage than has been shown by woman when called upon to 
suflier by affection or duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly 
nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and impatient of pain — 5 
yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, 

I feel the strong assurance within me that my courage shall 
mount higher than thine. Farewell — I waste no more words 
on thee ; the time that remains on earth to the daughter of 
Jacob must be otherwise spent — she must seek the Comforter, 10 
who may hide his face from his people, but who ever opens his 
ear to theory of those who seek him in sincerity and in truth.” 

“We part then thus?” said the Templar, after a short 
pause ; ‘ ‘ would to Heaven that we had never met, or that thou 
hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith ! — Nay, by 15 
Heaven ! when I gaze on thee, and., think when and how we 
are next to meet, I could even wish myself one of thine own 
degraded nation ; my hand conversant with ingots and shekels, 
instead of spear and shield; my head bent down before each 
petty noble, and my look only terrible to the shivering and 20 
bankrupt debtor, — this could I wish, Kebecca, to be near to thee 
in life, and to escape the fearful share I must have in thy death.” 

“ Thou hast spoken the Jew,” said Eebecca, “ as the persecu- 
tion of such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire has 
driven him from his country, but industry has opened to him 25 
the only road to power and to influence, which oppression has 
left unbarred. Head the ancient history of the people of God, 
and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah wrought such marvels 
among the nations, were then a people of misers and usurers I 
— And know, proud knight, we number names amongst us to 30 
which your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared 
with the cedar — names that ascend far back to those high 
times when the Divine Presence shook the mercy-seat between 
the cherubim, and which derive their splendor from no earthly 
prince, but from the awful Voice, which bade their fathers 35 
be nearest of the congregation to the Vision. Such were the 
princes of the House of Jacob.” 

Rebecca’s color rose as she boasted the ancient glories of her 
race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, “ Such the 
26 


402 


IVANHOE. 


princes of Judah, now such no more ! — They are trampled 
down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire of the 
ways. Yet are there those among them who shame not such 
high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of Isaac the 
5 son of Adonikam ! Farewell ! — I envy not thy blood- won 
honors — I envy not thy barbarous descent from northern 
heathens — I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy 
mouth, but never in thy heart nor in thy practice.” 

“ There is a spell on me, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 
10 I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that 
the reluctance with which I part from thee hath something in 
it more than is natural. — Fair creature ! ” he said, approach- 
ing near her, but with great respect, — “ so young, so beautiful, 
so fearless of death ! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy 
15 and agony. Who would not weep for thee ? — The tear, that 
has been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens 
them as I gaze on thee. But it must be — nothing may now 
save thy life. Thou and I are but the blind instruments of 
some irresistible fatality that hurries us along, like goodly ves- 
20 sels driving before the storm, which are dashed against each 
other, and so perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at 
least as friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in vain, 
and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.” 

“ Thus,” said Eebecca, “ do men throw on fate the issue of 
25 their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois-Guilbert, 
though the author of my early death. There are noble things 
which cross over thy powerful mind; but it is the garden of 
the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and conspired to 
choke the fair and wholesome blossom.” 

30 “Yes,” said the Templar, “I am, Eebecca, as thou hast 
spoken me, untaught, untamed — and proud, that, amidst a 
shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the pre- 
eminent fortitude that places me above them. I have been a 
child of battle from my youth upward, high in my views, 
35 steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I remain 
— proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of this the world 
shall have proof. — But thou forgivest me, Eebecca ?” 

“As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.” 
“Farewell, then,’’ said the Templar, and left the apartment. 


IVANHOE. 


403 


The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

“Thou hast tarried long,” he said; “I have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the 
Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither ? I had 
paid dear for my complaisance. — But what ails thee, brother ? 
—Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. Art thou 
well, Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

“ Ay,” answered the Templar, “ as well as the wretch who is 
doomed to die within an hour. — Nay, by the rood, not half so 
well— for there be those in such state, who can lay down life 
like a cast-off garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl 
hath well-nigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to go to the 
Grand Master, abjure the Order to his very teeth, and refuse 
to act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me.” 

“ Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin; “thou mayest thus 
indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find a chance 
thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which seems so precious 
in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name another of the Order 
to defend his judgment in thy place, and the accused will 
assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the duty imposed on 
thee.” 

“ ’Tis false — I will myself take arms in her behalf,” an- 
swered the Templar, haughtily; “and, should I do so, I think, 
Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the Order who will 
keep his saddle before the point of my lance.” 

“x\y, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, “thou 
wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad 
project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast re- 
nounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long the despotic 
old man will leave thee in personal freedom. The words shall 
scarce have left thy lips ere thou wilt either be an hundred 
feet underground, in the dungeon of the Preceptory, to abide 
trial as a recreant knight ; or, if his opinion holds concernmg 
thy possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and 
chains in some distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, 
and drenched with holy water, to expel the foul fiend which 
hath obtained dominion over thee. Thou must to the lists, 
Brian, or thou art a lost and dishonored man.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


404 


IVANHOE. 


“I will break forth and fly/’ said Bois-Guilbert, — “fly to 
some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have not yet 
found their way. No drop of the blood of this most excellent 
creature shall be spilled by my sanction.” 

5 “Thou canst not fly,” said the Preceptor; “thy ravings 
have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to leave 
the Preceptory. Go and make the essay — present thyself be- 
fore the gate, and command the bridge to be lowered, and 
mark what answer thou shalt receive. — Thou art surprised 
10 and offended; but is it not the better for thee ? Wert thou to 
fly, what would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, the dis- 
honor of thine ancestry, the degradation of thy rank ? — Think 
on it. Where shall thine old companions in arms hide their 
heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the 
15 Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid the hisses of the 
assembled people ? What grief will be at the Court of France ! 
With what joy will the haughty Richard hear the news, that 
the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh dark- 
ened his renown, has lost fame and honor for a Jewish girl, 
20 whom he could not even save by so costly a sacrifice I ” 

“ Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “I thank thee— thou hast 
touched the string at which my heart most readily thrills ! — 
Come of it what may, recreant shall never be added to the 
name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Richard, or any of his 
25 vaunting minions of England, would appear in these lists ! 
But they will be empty — no one will risk to break a lance for 
the innocent, the forlorn.” 

“ The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the Preceptor ; “ if 
no champion appears, it is not by thy means that this unlucky 
30 damsel shall die, but by the doom of the Grand Master, with 
whom rests all the blame, and who will count that blame for 
praise and commendation.” 

“ True,” said Bois-Guilbert; “ if no champion appears, I am 
but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback in the 
35 lists, but having no part in whatris to follow.” 

“ None whatever,” said Malvoisin ; “ no more than the armed 
image of Saint George when it makes part of a procession.” 

“Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied tlie haughty 
Templar. “ She has despised me— repulsed me— reviled me.— 


lYAN-HOE. 


405 


And wherefore should I offer up for her whatever of estima- 
tion I have in the opinion of others ? Malvoisin, I will appear 
in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, and 
the Preceptor folio wed^to watch and confirm him in his reso- 5 
lution; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame he had himself a strong in- 
terest, expecting much advantage from his being one day at 
the head of the Order, not to mention the preferment of which 
Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on condition he would 
forward the condemnation of the unfortunate Pebecca. Yet 10 
although, in combating his friend’s better feelings, he possessed 
all the advantage which a wily, composed, selfish disposition 
has over a man agitated by strong and contending passions, it 
required all Malvoisin’s art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the 
purpose he had prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to 15 
watch him closely to prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, 
to intercept his communication with the Grand Master, lest he 
should come to an open rupture with his Superior, and to re- 
new, from time to time, the various arguments by which he 
endeavored to show, that, in appearing as champion on this 20 
occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating or insuring 
the fate of Rebecca, would follow the only course by which he 
could save himself from degradation and disgrace. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Shadows avaunt !— Richard’s himself again. 

Richard 111, 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to resume 
^he train of his adventures — left the Trysting-tree of the gen- 25 
erous Outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighboring relig- 
ious house, of small extent and revenue, called the Priory of 
St. Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been removed 
when the castle was taken, under the guidance of the faithful 
Gurth and the magnanimous Wamha. It is unnecessary at 30 
present to mention what took place in the interim betwixt 
Wilfred and his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after long and 
grave communication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior 


406 


IVANHOE. 


in several directions, and that on the succeeding morning the 
Black Knight was about to set forth on his journey, accom- 
panied by the jester Wamba, who attended as his guide. 

“ We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “ at Coningsburgh, the 
5 castle of the deceased Athelstane, sinSfe there thy father Cedric 
holds the funeral feast for his noble relation. I would see 
your Saxon kindred together. Sir Wilfred, and become better 
acquainted with them than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet 
me; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee to thy father.” 

10 So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who 
expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But 
the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal. 

“ Best this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to 
travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest 
15 Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the 
humor.” 

“ And I,” said Wamba, “ will attend you with all my heart. 
I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane ; for, 
if it be not full and frequent, he will rise from the dead to 
20 rebuke cook, sewer, and cup-bearer; and that were a sight 
worth seeing, Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valor 
with making my excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own 
wit should fail.” 

“ And how should my poor valor succeed, Sir Jester, when 
25 thy light wit halts ? — resolve me that.” 

“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “ may do much. He 
is a quick, apprehensive knave who sees his neighbor’s blind 
side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his passions are 
blowing high. But valor is a sturdy fellow, that makes all 
30 split. He rows against both wind and tide, and makes way 
notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take 
advantage of the fair weather in our noble master’s temper, I 
will expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to 
35 be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “ I fear me you have chosen a 
talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he 
knows every path and alley in the woods as well as e’er a 
hunter who frequents them ; and the poor knave, as thou hast 
partly seen, is as faithful as steel.” 


IVANHOE. 


407 


“Nay,” said the Knight, “ an he have the gift of showing 
my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires to make 
it pleasant. — Fare thee well, kind Wilfred — I charge thee not 
to attempt to travel till to-morrow at earliest.” 

So saying, he extendedfhis hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it 5 
to his lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and de- 
parted, with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe followed 
them with his eyes, until they were lost in the shades of the 
surrounding forest, and then returned into the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. 10 
The old man came in haste, and inquired anxiously after the 
state of his health. 

“ It is better,” he said, “ than my fondest hope could have 
anticipated ; either my wound has been slighter than the effu- 
sion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath wrought 15 
a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I could bear my 
corselet ; and so much the better, for thoughts pass in my mind 
which render me unwilling to remain here longer in inactivity.” 

“Now, the saints forbid,” said the Prior, “that the son of 
the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were 20 
healed ! It were shame to our profession were we to suffer it.” 

“Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable 
father,” said Ivanhoe, “did I not feel myself able to endure 
the journey, and compelled to undertake it. 

“ And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure ? ” 05 
said the Prior. 

“ Have you never, holy father,” answered the Knight, “ felt 
an apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain 
attempted to assign a cause ? — Have you never found your 
mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, 30 
which augurs a coming tempest ? — And thinkest thou not that 
such impulses are deserving of attention, as being the hints of 
our guardian spirits, that danger is impending ? ” 

“ I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, “that 
such things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then 35 
such communications have had a visibly useful scope and ten- 
dency. But thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it thou 
shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid, 
were he to be assaulted ? ” 


408 


IVANHOE. 


“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge me 
to such a traffic. — But were it otherwise, may I not aid him 
were he in danger, by other means than by force of arms ? It 
5 is but too well known that the Saxons love not the Norman 
race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break in 
upon them when their hearts are irritated by the death of 
Athelstane, and their heads heated by the carousal in which 
they will indulge themselves ? I hold his entrance among them 
10 at such a moment most perilous, and I am resolved to. share or 
avert the danger; which, that I may the better do, I would 
crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer 
than that of my destrier. 

“Surely,” said the worthy churchman; “you shall have 
15 mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for 
your sake as that of the Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet this will 
I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you were to bor- 
row a ride on the juggler’s steed that paces a hornpipe amongst 
the eggs, you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle 
20 and smooth -paced. I have composed many a homily on her 
back, to the edification of my brethren of the convent, and 
many poor Christian souls.” 

“ I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “let Malkin be 
got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms.” 
25 “ Nay, but fair sir,” said the Prior, “ I pray you to remem- 

ber that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and 
that I warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of your 
full panoply. O, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of judg- 
ment, and will contend against any undue weight — I did but 
30 borrow the Fructus Temporum from the priest of Saint Bees, 
and I promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had 
exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.’' 

“Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “ I will not distress 
her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, j 
do it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
Knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convinc- 
ing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being conform- j 
able to the will of his rider. 1 


IVANHOE. 


409 


The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels werv 
now armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent of his 
courtesy, and ejaculate, — “Nay, but fair sir, now I bethink 
me, my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better it were that you 
tarry for the mare of our manciple down at the Grange, which 5 
may be had in little more than an hour, and cannot but be 
tractable, in respect that she draweth much of our winter fire- 
wood, and eateth no corn.” 

“I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your first 
offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth 10 
shall carry mine armor ; and for the rest, rely on it, that as I 
will not overload Malkin’s back, she shall not overcome my 
patience. And now, farewell! ” 

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily 
than his wound promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, ID 
eager to escape the importunity of the Prior, who stuck as 
closely to his side as his age and fatness would permit, now 
singing the praises of Malkin, now recommending caution to 
the Knight in managing her. 

“ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as 20 
mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own jest, “being 
barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand canvass- 
ing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to the 
Prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, and having leapt on 25 
his mare, and commanded his squire (for such Gurth now called 
himself) to keep close by his side, he followed the track of the 
Black Knight into the forest, while the Prior stood at the gate 
of the convent looking after him and ejaculating, — “Saint 
Mary ! how prompt and fiery be these men of war ! I would 30 
I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am 
with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls 
her. And yet,” said he, recollecting himself, “ as I would not 
spare my own old and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old 
England, so Malkin must e’en run her hazard on the same 35 
venture ; and it may be they will think our poor house worthy 
of some munificent guerdon — or, it may be, they will send the 
old Prior a pacing nag. And if they do none of these, as great 
men will forget little men's se^'^ ’ce, trujy I shall hold me well 


410 


iVANHOK. 


repaid in having done that which is right. And it is now well- 
nigh the fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in 
the refectory. — Ah ! I doubt they obey that call more cheerily 
than the bells for primes and matins.” 

5 So the Prior of Saint Botolph’s hobbled back again into the 
refectory, to preside over the stockfish and ale, which was just 
serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy and important, 
he sat him down at the table, and many a dark word he threw 
out, of benefits to be expected to the convent, and high deeds 
10 of service done by himself, which, at another season, would 
have attracted observation. But as the stockfish was highly 
salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the jaws of the 
brethren were too anxiously employed to admit of their making 
much use of their ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity, 
15 who was tempted to speculate upon the mysterious hints of 
their Superior, except Father Diggory, who was severely af- 
flicted by the toothache, so that he could only eat on one side 
of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were 
20 pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the forest ; the 
good Knight whiles humming to himself the lay of some 
enamored troubadour, sometimes encouraging by questions 
the prating disposition of his attendant, so that their dialogue 
formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, of which we 
25 would fain give our readers some idea. You are then to imag- 
ine this Knight, such as we have already described him, strong 
of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, mounted 
on his mighty black charger, which seemed made on purpose 
to bear his weight, so easily he paced forward under it, having 
SO the visor of his helmet raised, in order to admit freedom of 
breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part, closed, so that 
his features could be but imperfectly distinguished. But his 
ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the 
large and bright blue eyes, that flashed from under the dark 
35 shade of the raised visor ; and the whole gesture and look of the 
champion expressed careless gayety and fearless confidence — a 
mind which was unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to defy 
it when most imminent, yet with whom danger was a familiar 
thought, as with one whose trade was war and adventure. 


IVANHOE. 


411 


The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents 
had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his 
wooden sword, with a targe to match it ; of both which weapons 
he had, notwithstanding his profession, shown himself a skill- 
ful master during the storming of Torquilstone. Indeed, the 5 
infirmity of Wamba’s brain consisted chiefiy in a kind of im- 
patient irritability, which suffered him not long to remain quiet 
in any posture, or adhere to. any certain train of ideas, al- 
though he was for a few minutes alert enough in performing 
any immediate task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. 10 
On horseback, therefore, he w^as perpetually swinging himself 
backwards and forwards, now on the horse’s ears, then anon 
on the very rump of the animal, now hanging both his legs on 
one side, and now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, mow- 
ing, and making a thousand apish gestures, until his palfrey 15 
took his freaks so much to heart, as fairly to lay him at his 
length on the green grass — an incident which greatly amused 
the Knight but compelled his companion to ride more steadily 
thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, this 20 
joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as it was called, 
in which the clown bore a mellow burden, to the better in- 
structed Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus ran the ditty: — 

Anna -Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn. 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his hom^ 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

’Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

Wamba. 

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit, 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 

Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love f 
Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 


412 


IVANHOE. 


A dainty song,” said Wamba, when they had finished their 
carol, “ and I swear by rny bauble, a pretty moral ! — I used to 
sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, by the grace 
of God and his master, no less than a freeman ; and we once 
came by the cudgel for being so entranced by the melody, that 
we lay in bed t^o hours after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt 
sleeping and waking — my bones ache at thinking of the tune 
ever since. Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna° 
Marie, to please you, fair sir.” 

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic 
ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in 
the like manner. 


Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 
Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 

And where was the widow might say them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go back by his sea-coal fire. 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba. 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay ; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent, 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 


IVANHOE. 

Both. 


413 


So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 

There for to sing their roundelay ; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

“ I would, Wamba,” said the Knight, “ that our host of the 
Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard this thy 
ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.’’ 

“ So would not I,” said Wamba — “but for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric.” 10 

“Ay,” said the Knight, — “this is a pledge of Locksley’s i 
good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on this 
bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a jolly band 
of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“I would say. Heaven forefend,” said the Jester, “ were it 15 
not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass peace- 
ably.” 

“ Why, what meanest thou ? ” said the Knight ; “ thinkest 
thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would assault 
us ? ” 20 

“ Nay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba ; “for green trees 
have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou construe me 
this. Sir Knight — When is thy wine-pitcher and thy purse 
better empty than full ? ” 

“Why, never, I think,” replied the Knight. 25 

“ Thou never deserves! to have a full one in thy hand, for so 
simple an answer ! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher ere 
thou pass it to the Saxon, and leave thy money at home ere 
thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“ You hold our friends for robbers, then ?” said the Knight 30 
of the Fetterlock. 

“ You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba; “it may 
relieve a man’s steed to take off his mail when he hath a long 
journey to make; and, certes, it may do good to the rider’s 
soul to ease him of that which is the root of evil ; therefore 35 
will I give no hard names to those who do such services. Only 
I would wish my mail at home, and my purse in my chamber, ^ 
when I meet with these good fellows, because it might save 
them some trouble,” 


414 


IVANHOE. 


, “ We are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwithstand- 

ing the fair character thou dost afford them.” 

“ Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; “ but in 
the town, not in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint Bees, 
5 whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow oak-tree for 
his stall.” 

“Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, “these 
yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquil- 
stone.” 

10 ‘ ‘ Ay, truly, ” answered W amba ; ‘ ‘ but that was in the fashion 

of their trade with Heaven.” 

“Their trade, Wamba ! how mean you by that ?” replied 
his companion. 

“ Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “ They make up a balanced 
15 account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call his cipher- 
ing, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps wuth his debtors, and, like 
him, give out a very little, and take large credit for doing so; 
reckoning, doubtless, on their own behalf the seven -fold usury 
which the blessed text hath promised to charitable loans.’ 

20 “Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba, — I know 
nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered the Knight. 

“ Why,” said Wamba, “ an your valor be so dull, you vill 
please to learn that those honest fellows balance a good c^eed 
with one not quite so laudable; as a crown given to a begghig 
25 friar with an hundred byzants taken from a fat abbot, or 
a wench kissed in the greenwood with the relief of a pp^r 
widow.” 

“Which of these was the good deed, which was the felony? ” 
interrupted the Knight. 

30 “A good gibe ! a good gibe I ” said Wamba; “ keeping witty 
company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing so 
well. Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you held drunken ves- 
pers with the bluff Hermit. — But to go on. The merry-men 
of the forest set off the building of a cottage with the burning 
35 of a castle, — the thatching of a choir against the robbing of a 
church, — the setting free a poor prisoner against the murder 
of a proud sheriff ; or, to come nearer to our point, the deliver- 
ance of a Saxon franklin against the burning alive of a Nor- 
man baron. Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteou.3 


IVANHOE. 415 

robbers ; but it is ever the luckiest to meet with them when 
they are at the worst.” 

“ How so, Wamba? ” said the Knight. 

“ Why, then they have some compunction, and are for mak- 
ing up matters with Heaven. But when they have struck an 
even balance. Heaven help them with whom they next open 
the account! The travelers who first met them after their 
good service at Torquilstone would have a woful flaying.— And 
yet,” said Wamba, coming close up to the Knight’s side, “ there 
be companions who are far more dangerous for travelers to 
meet than yonder outlaws.” 

“ And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor 
wolves, I trow? ” said the Knight. 

“Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,” said 
Wamba; “and let me tell you, that, in time of civil war, a 
halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any time. 
They are now expecting their harvest, and are reinforced with 
the soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone. So that, should 
we meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for our feats 
of arms. — Now, I pray you. Sir Knight, what would you do 
if we met two of them? ” 

“Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if 
they offered us any impediment.” 

“ But what if there were four of them? ” 

“ They should drink of the same cup,” answered the Knight. 

“ What if six,” continued Wamba, “ and we as we now are, 
barely two — would you not remember Locksley’s horn? ” 

“What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “ against a 
jSCore of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight could 
drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves ? ” 

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a close 
sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his 
fellow-traveler, who immediately hung the bugle round his 
own nQck. 

“ Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I know 
my gamut as well as another.” 

“How mean you, knave?” said the Knight; “restore me 
the bugle.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


416 


lY ANHOE. 


“Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
Valor and Folly travel. Folly should bear the horn, because 
she can blow the best.” 

“ Nay, but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “ this exceedeth 
5 thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my patience.” 

“Urge me not with violence. Sir Knight,” said the Jester, 
keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, “ or Folly 
will show a clean pair of heels, and leave Valor to find out his 
way through the wood as best he may.” 

IQ “Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; “and, 
sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the 
horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey.” 

“You will not harm me th^n? ” said Wamba. 

“ I tell thee no, thou knave! ” 

15 “Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” continued 
Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

“ My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish 
self.” 

“Nay, then. Valor and Folly are once more boon compan- 
20 ions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight’s side; 
“but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed 
on the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like 
a king of the nine-pins. And now that Folly wears the horn 
let Valor arouse himself, and shake his mane; for, if I mistake 
25 not, there are company in yonder brake that are on the look- 
out for us.” 

“ What makes thee judge so? ” said the Knight. 

“ Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a mor- 
rion from amongst the green leaves. Had they been honest 
3Q men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a choice 
chapel for the Clerks of Saint Nicholas.” 

“ By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “ I think 
thou be’st in the right on’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows flew at the 
35 same instant from the suspected spot against his head and 
breast, one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had 
it not been turned aside by the steel visor. The other two 
were averted by the gorget, and by the shield which hung 
around his neck. 


IVANHOE. 


417 


“Thanks, trusty armorer,” said the Knight. — “ Wamba, let 
us close with them,” — and he rode straight to the thicket. 
He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him 
with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck 
against him, and splintered with as little effect as if they had 
been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes 
seemed to flash fire even through the aperture of his visor. He 
raised himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dig- 
nity, and exclaimed, “ What means this, my masters! ” — The 
men made no other reply than by drawing their swords and 
attacking him on every side, crying, “ Die, tyrant! ” 

“Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!” said the Black 
Knight, striking down a man at every invocation ; “have we 
traitors here? ” 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an 
arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the 
terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle against 
such odds, when a knight, in blue armor, who had hitherto 
kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred forward with 
his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, 
wounded the noble animal mortally. 

“ That was a felon stroke! ” exclaimed the Black Knight, as 
the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with him. 

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the whole 
had passed so speedily, that he had not time to do so sooner. 
The sudden sound made the murderers bear back once more, 
and Wamba, though so imperfectly weaponed, did not hesitate 
to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise. 

“Shame on ye, false cowards!” exclaimed he in the blue 
harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “do ye fly from 
the empty blast of a horn blown by a jester? ” 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an 
oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, 
who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his 
formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped against 
him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the tree, when 
his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, 
making up by agility the want of strength, and little noticed 
27 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


418 


IVANHOE. 


by the men-at-arms, who were busied in their more important 
object, hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually 
checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing 
his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to 
5 the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of' the Fetterlock 
continued very precarious, as he was pressed close by several 
men completely armed, and began to be fatigued by the violent 
exertions necessary to defend himself on so many points at 
nearly the same moment, when a gray-goose shaft suddenly 
10 stretched on the earth one of the most formidable of his assail- 
ants, and a band of yeomen broke forth from the glade, headed 
by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and ef- 
fectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the rufiians, all of 
whom lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black 
15 Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not 
observed in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed 
rather that of a blunt bold soldier, than of a person of exalted 
rank. 

“ It concerns me much,” he said, “ even before I express my 
20 full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who 
have been my unprovoked enemies. — Open the visor of that 
Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains.” 

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, 
who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded 
25 steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance. 

“ Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “ I must be your armorer 
as well as your equerry — I have dismounted you, and now I 
will unhelrn you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of 
30 the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, dis- 
played to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a 
countenance he did not expect to have seen under such cir- 
cumstances. 

“Waldemar Fitzurse?” he said in astonishment; “what 
35 could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an 
undertaking ? ” 

“Richard,” said the captive Knight, looking up to him, 
“thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what 
ambition and revenge can lead every child of Adam.” 


IVANHOE. 419 

‘ ‘ Revenge ! ” answered the Black Knight ; “I never wronged 
thee. — On me thou hast naught to revenge.” 

‘ ‘ My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn — 
was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine 
own ? ” 

‘ ‘ Thy daughter ? ” replied the Black Knight ; “a proper cause 
of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue ! — Stand back, my 
masters, I would speak to him alone. — And now, Waldemar 
Fitzurse, say me the truth — confess who set thee on this 
traitorous deed.” 

“ Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, ‘ ‘ who, in so doing, 
did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father.” 

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, hut his better 
nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, 
and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled 
baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame. 

“ Thou do^ not ask thy life, Waldemar,” said the King. 

“ He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, “ knows 
it were needless.” 

“ Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “ the lion preys not 
on prostrate carcasses. — Take thy life, but with this condition, 
that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide 
thine infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never 
mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy 
felony. If thou art found on English ground after the space 
1 have allotted thee, thou diest — or if thou breathest aught 
that can attaint the honor of my house, by Saint George! not 
the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to 
feed the ravens, from the very pinnacle of thine own castle. — 
Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen 
have caught those which were running loose, and let him depart 
unharmed.” 

“ But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must not 
be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “I would send a shaft 
after the skulking villain that should spare him the labor of a 
long journey.” 

“Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the Black 
Knight, “ and well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey 
my behest — I am Richard of England ! ” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


420 


IVANHOE. 


At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited t( 
tlie high rank and no less distinguished character of Coeur-de- 
Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and at the 
same time tendered their allegiance, and implored pardon for 
5 their offenses. 

“Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, looking 
on them with a countenance in which his habitual good-humor 
had already conquered the blaze cf hasty resentment, and 
whose features retained no mark of the late desperate conflict, 
10 excepting the flush arising from exertion, — “Arise,” he said, 
“my friends! — Your misdemeanors whether in forest or field 
have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered my dis- 
tressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue 
you have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my 
15 liegemen, and be good subjects in future. — And thou, brave 
Loclisley — ” 

“ Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under 
the name, which<, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to 
have reached even your royal ears — I am Robin Hood of Sher- 
20 wood Forest.” 

‘ ‘ King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows ! ” said the 
King, ‘ ‘ who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far 
as Palestine ! But be assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done 
in our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath 
25 given rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.” 

“ True says the proverb, ’’said Wamba, interposing his word, 
but with some abatement of his usual petulance, — 

“ ‘ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.’ ” 

80 “What, Wamba; art thou there ?” said Richard; “ I hav^ 
been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken 
flight.” 

“ I take flight ! ” said Wamba; “ when do you ever find Folly 
separated from Valor ? There lies the trophy of my sword, 
35 that good gray gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs 
again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in liis place. 
It is true, 1 gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket 
does not brook lance-heads, f.s a steel doublet will. But if i 


IVANHOE. 421 

fought not at sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded 
the onset.” 

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the King. 
“ Thy good service shall not be forgotten.” 

Confiteor ! Confiteor!'" — exclaimed, in a submissive tone, 
a voice near the King’s side — “ my Latin will carry me no far- 
ther— but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to have 
absolution before I am led to execution ! ” 

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his 
knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter- staff, which had 
not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. 
His countenance was gathered so as he thought might best 
express the most profound contrition, his eyes being turned 
up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba ex- 
pressed it, like the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this 
demure affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically be- 
lied by a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge features, 
and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance alike hypo- 
critical. 

“ For what art thou cast down, mad Priest ?” said Richard; 
“art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou 
dost serve Our Lady and Saint Dunstan ?— Tush, man 1 fear it 
not ; Richard of England betrays no secrets that pass over the 
flagon.” 

“Nay, most gracious sovereign,” answered the Hermit, 
(well known to the curious in penny -histories of Robin Hood, 
by the name of Friar Tuck), “ it is not the crosier I fear, but 
the scepter.— Alas! that my sacrilegious fist should ever have 
been applied to the ear of the Lord’s anointed ! ” 

“Ha! ha! ’’said Richard, “sits the wind there ?— In truth 
I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a 
whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, I will be judged 
by the good men around, if it was not as well repaid— or, if 
thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forth for 
another counterbuff — ” 

“ By no means,” replied Friar Tuck; “I had mine own re- 
turned, and with usury— may your Majesty ever pay your 
debts as fully ! ” 

“ If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “my cred- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


422 IVANHOE. 

itors should have little reason to complain of an empty ex- 
chequer. ” 

“And yet, ’’said the Friar, resuminghis demure hypocritical 
countenance, “I know not what penance 1 ought to perform 
5 for that most sacrilegious blow ! 

“ Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King ; ‘ ‘ after having 
stood so many cuffs from Paynims and misbelievers, I were 
void of reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so holy as 
he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I think it would 
10 be best both for the church and thyself, that I should procure 
a license to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our 
gual*d, serving in care of our person, as formerly in attendance 
upon the altar of Saint Dunstan.” 

“ My Liege,” said the Friar, “ I humbly crave your pardon ; 
15 and you would readily grant my excuse, did you but know 
how the sin of laziness has beset me. Saint Dunstan — may 
he be gracious to us ! — stands quiet in his niche, though I should 
forget my orisons in killing a fat buck— I stay out of my cell 
sometimes a night, doing I wot not what — Saint Dunstan 
20 never complains— a quiet master he is, and a peaceful, as ever 
was made of wood. — But to be a yeoman in attendance on my 
sovereign the King— the honor is great, doubtless— yet, if I 
were but to step aside to comfort a widow in one corner, or to 
kill a deer in another, it would be, ‘ Where is the dog Priest ? ’ 
25 says one. ‘ Who has seen the accursed Turk ? ’ says another. 

‘ The unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half the 
country besides,’ says one keeper; ‘ And is hunting after every 
shy doe in the country! ’ quoth a second. — In fine, good my 
liege, I pray you to leave me as you found me ; or, if in aught 
30 you desire to extend your benevolence to me, that I may be 
considered as the poor Clerk of Saint Dunstan’s cell in Copman- 
hurst, to whom any small donation will be most thankfully 
acceptable.” 

“I understand thee,” said the King, “and the Holy Clerk 
35 shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods of Wharn- 
cliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee three bucks every 
season ; but if that do not prove an apology for thy slaying 
thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true king.” 

“Your Grace maj^ be well assured,” said the Friar, that, 


IVANHOE. 


423 


with the grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multi - 
plying your most bounteous gift.” 

“ I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King; “ and as 
venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to deliver 
to thee a butt of sack, and a runlet of Malvoisie, and three 6 
hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly. — If that will not 
quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and become 
acquainted with my butler.” 

“ But for Saint Dunstan ? ” said the Friar — 

“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,” 10 
continued the King, crossing himself.— “ But we may not turn 
our game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more 
on our follies than on his honor and worship.” 

“I will answer for my patron,” said the Priest, joyously. 

“ Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King Richard, something 15 
sternly ; but immediately stretching out his hand to the Her- 
mit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted 
it. ‘‘Thou dost less honor to my extended palm than to my 
clenched fist,” said the Monarch; “thou didst only kneel to 
the one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.” 20 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offense by con- 
tinuing the conversation in too jocose a style— a false step to 
be particularly guarded against by those who converse with 
monarchs— bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on 25 
the scene. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

Who live not more happy, though greater than we I 
Our pastimes to see, 

Under every green tree. 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be. 

Macdonald. 

The newcomers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior of 
Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the 
Knight’s own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe was 
beyond bounds, when he saw his master besprinkled with 30 
blood, and six or seven dead bodies lying around in the little 


424 


IVANHOE. 


glade in which the battle had taken place. Nor was he less 
surprised to see Richard surrounded by so many silvan attend- 
ants, the outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the forest, and a 
perilous retinue therefore for a prince. He hesitated whether 
5 tc address the King as the Black Knight-errant, or in what 
other manner to demean himself towards him. Richard saw 
his embarrassment. 

“ Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “ to address Richard Plantage- 
net as himself, since thou seest him in the company of true 
iO English hearts, although it may be they have been urged a 
few steps aside by warm English blood.” 

“ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant Outlaw, stepping 
forward, ‘ ‘ my assurances can add nothing to those of our sov- 
ereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, that of men who 
15 have suffered much, he hath not truer subjects than those who 
now stand around him.” 

“ I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, “ since thou 
art of the number. — But what mean these marks of dearth 
and danger ? these slain men, and the bloody armor of my 
20 Prince ? ” 

“ Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,” said the King; “but, 
thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its meed. — But, 
now, I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,” said Richard, smil- 
ing ; “a most disobedient traitor ; for were not our orders posi- 
25 tive, that thou shouldst repose thyself at Saint Botolph’s until 
thy wound was healed ? ” 

“ It is healed,” said Ivanhoe; “ it is not of more consequence 
than the scratch of a bodkin. But why, oh why, noble Prince, 
will you thus vex the hearts of your faithful servants, alid ex- 
30 pose your life by lonely journeys and rash adventures, as if it 
were of no more value than that of a mere knight-errant, who 
has no interest on earth but what lance and sword may pro- 
cure him ? ” 

“And Richard Plantagenet,” said the King, “desires no 
35 more fame than his good lance and sword may acquire him — 
and Richard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an adventure, 
with only his goOd sword, and his good arm to speed, than if 
he led to battle an host of an hundred thousand armed men.” 

“But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe, “your king' 


IVANHOE. 


425 


dom is threatened with dissolution and civil war — your sub- 
jects menaced with every species of evil, if deprived of their 
sovereign in some of those dangers which it is your daily pleas- 
ure to incur, and from which you have but this moment nar- 
rowly escaped.” 

“ Ho ! ho ! my kingdom and my subjects ? ” answered Eichard, 
impatiently; ‘‘I tell thee, Sir Wilfred, the best of them are 
most willing to repay my follies in kind. — For example, my 
very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivaiihoe, will not obey my 
positive commands, and yet reads his king a homily, because 
he does not walk exactly by his advice. Which of us has 
most reason to upbraid the other ? — Yet forgive me, my faith- 
ful Wilfred. The time I have spent, and am yet to spend in 
concealment, is, as I explained to thee at Saint Botolph’s, 
necessary to give my friends and faithful nobles time to as- 
semble their forces, that when Richard’s return is announced, 
he should be at the head of such a force as enemies shall trem- 
ble to face, and thus subdue the meditated treason, without even 
unsheathing a sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be strong 
enough to move forward to York for twenty-four hours. I 
must have news of Salisbury from the south; and of Beau- 
champ, in W ar wickshire ; and of Multon and Percy in the north. 
The Chancellor must make sure of London. Too sudden an ap- 
pearance would subject me to dangers, other than my lance 
and sword, though backed by the bow of bold Robin, or the 
quarter-staff of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, 
may be able to rescue me from.” 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it was 
to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so often im- 
pelled his master upon dangers which he might easily have 
avoided, or rather, which it was unpardonable in him to have 
sought out. The young knight sighed, therefore, and held his 
peace; while Richard, rejoiced at having silenced his counsel- 
or, though his heart acknowledged the justice of the charge he 
had brought against him, went on in conversation with Robin 
Hood. — “King of Outlaws,” he said, “ havq you no refresh- 
ment to offer to your brother sovereign ? for these dead knaves 
have found me both in exercise and appetite.” 

“ In troth,” replied the Outlaw, “ for I scorn to lie to your 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


426 


IVANHOE. 


Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with—” He stopped, and 
was somewhat embarrassed. 

‘‘With venison, I suppose ?” said Richard, gayly; “better 
food at need there can be none — and truly, if a king will not 
5 remain at home and slay his own game, me thinks he should 
not brawl too loud if he finds it killed to his hand.” 

“ If your Grace, then,” said Robin, “ will again honor with 
your presence one of Robin Hood’s places of rendezvous, the 
venison shall not be lacking; and a stoup of ale, and it may be 
10 a cup of reasonably good wine, to relish it withal.” 

The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the buxom 
Monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance meeting with 
Robin Hood and his foresters, then he would have been in 
again assuming his royal state, and presiding over a splendid 
15 circle of peers and nobles. Novelty in society and adventure 
were the zest of life to Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and it had its 
highest relish when enhanced by dangers encountered and sur- 
mounted. In the lion-hearted King, the brilliant but useless 
character of a knight of romance was in a great measure 
20 realized and revived; and the personal glory which he acquired 
by his own deeds of arms, was far more dear to his excited 
imagination, than that which a course of policy and wisdom 
would have spread around his government. Accordingly, his 
reign was like the course of a brilliant and rapid meteor, which 
25 shoots along the face of heaven, shedding around an unneces - 
sary and portentous light, which is instantly swallowed up by 
universal darkness; his feats of chivalry furnishing themes 
for bards and minstrels, but affording none of those solid bene- 
fits to his country on which history loves to pause and hold up 
30 as an example to posterity. But in his present company 
Richard showed to the greatest imaginable advantage. He 
was gay, good-humored, and fond of manhood in every rank 
of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily pre- 
35 pared for the King of England, surrounded by men outlaws to 
his government, but who now formed his court and his guard. 
As the flagon went round, the rough foresters soon lost their 
awe for the presence of Majesty. The song and the jest were 
exchanged— the stories of former deeds were told with advan- 


IVANHOE. 


427 


tage ; and at length, and while boasting of their successful 
infraction of the laws, no one recollected they were speaking 
in presence of their natural guardian. The merry King, 
nothing heeding his dignity any more than his company, 
laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jolly band. The natu- 
ral and rough sense of Eobin Hood led him to be desirous that 
the scene should be closed ere anything should occur to disturb 
its harmony, the more especially that he observed Ivanhoe’s 
brow clouded with anxiety. “We are honored,” he said to 
Ivanhoe, apart, “ by the presence of our gallant sovereign; yet 
I would not that he dallied with time, which the circumstances 
of his kingdom may render precious.” 

“ It is well and wisely spoken, brave Eobin Hood,” said Wil- 
fred, apart; “and know, moreover, that they who jest with 
Majesty even in its gayest mood, are but toying with the lion’s 
whelp, which, on slight provocation, uses both fangs and 
claws.” 

‘ ‘ You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said the Out- 
law; “ my men are rough by practice and nature, the King is 
hasty as well as good-humored ; nor know I how soon cause 
of offense may arise, or how warmly it may be received — it is 
time this revel were broken off.” 

“ It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,” 
said Ivanhoe ; ‘ ‘ for each hint I have essayed to give him serves 
only to induce him to prolong it.” 

“ Must I so soon risk the pardon and favor of my Sov- 
ereign?” said Eobin Hood, pausing for an instant; “but by 
Saint Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace 
did I not peril it for his good. — Here, Scat block, get thee be- 
hind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy bugle, 
and without an instant’s delay, on peril of your life.” 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five minutes 
the revelers were startled by the sound of his horn. 

“ It is the bugle of Malvoisin,”said the.Miller, starting to his 
feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the flagon, and 
grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopped short in the midst of 
a jest, and betook himself to sword and target. All the others 
stood to their weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily from 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


\2S 


lYANHOE. 


the banquet to the battle ; and, to Richard, the exchange seemed 
but a succession of pleasure. He called for his helmet and the 
most cumbrous parts of his armor, which he had laid aside; 
and while Gurth was putting them on, belaid his strict injunc- 
g tions on Wilfred, under pain of his highest displeasure, not 
to engage in the skirmish which he supposed was approach- 
ing. 

“ Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, — and 
I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see how 
Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman.” 

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of his fol- 
lowers in different directions, as if to reconnoiter the enemy ; 
and when he saw the company effectually broken up, he ap- 
proached Richard, who was now completely armed, and, kneel- 
ing down on one knee, craved pardon of his Sovereign. 

“ For what, good yeoman ? ” said Richard, somewhat impa- 
tiently. “ Have we not already granted thee a full pardon for 
all transgressions ? Thinkest thou our word is a feather, to bo 
blown backward and forward between us ? Thou canst not 
2 ^ have had time to commit any new offense since that time? ” 

“ Ay, hut I have though,” answered the yeoman, “if it be 
an offense to deceive my prince for his own advantage. The 
bugle you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but blown by 
my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon 
hours of dearer import than to be thus dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his bosom, 
and in a manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited the 
answer of the King, — like one who is conscious he may have 
given offense, yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive. 
2 Q The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of Richard ; but 
it was the first transient emotion, and his sense of justice in- 
stantly subdued it. 

“ The King of Sherwood,” he said, “ grudges his venison and 
his wine-fiask to the King of England ? It is well, bold Robin ! 
35 — when you come to see me in merry London, I trust to bo 
a less niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow. 
Let us therefore to horse and away — Wilfred has been imp.i- 
tient this hour. Tell me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend 
in thy band, wUo, not content with advising, will needs direct 


IVANHOE. 429 

thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume to 
act for thyself ? ” 

“ Such a one,” said Robin, “is my lieutenant. Little John, 
who is even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders 
of Scotland ; and I will own to your Majesty, that I am some^ 5 
times displeased by the freedom of his councils — but, when I 
think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no 
motive for his anxiety save zeal for his master's service.” 

“ Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard; “and 
if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and 
recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the 
other, to trick me into what- thou thinkest my own good, I 
should have as little the freedom of mine own will as any king 
in Christendom or Heathenesse, — But come, sirs, let us mer- 
rily on to Coningsburgh, and think no more on’t.” 15 

Robin Hood assured them that be had detached a party in 
the direction of the road they were to pass, who would not fail 
to discover and apprise them of any secret ambuscade; and 
that he had little doubt they would find the ways secure, or, 
if otherwise, would receive such timely notice of the danger as 20 
^vould enable them to fall back on a strong troop of archers, 
with which he himself proposed to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his safety 
touched Richard’s feelings, and removed any slight grudge 
which he might retain on account of the deception the Outlaw 25 
Captain had practiced upon him. He once more extended his 
hand to Robin Hood, assui ed him of his full pardon and future 
favor, as well as his firm resolution to restrain the tyrannical 
exercise of the forest rights and other oppressive laws, by 
Avhich so many English yeomen were driven into a state of 30 
rebellion. But Richard’s good intentions tow^ards the bold 
Outlaw were frustrated by the King’s untimely death; and 
the Charter of the Forest was extorted from the unwilling 
hands of King John when he succeeded to his heroic brother. 

As for the rest of Robin Hood’s career, as well as the tale of 33 
his treacherous death, they are to be found in those black- 
letter garlands once sold at the low and easy rate of one half- 
penny, 

“ Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.” 


430 


IVANHOE. 


The Outlaw’s opinion proved true ; and the King attended 
by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived, without any inter- 
ruption, within view of the Castle of Coningsburgh, while the 
sun was yet in the horizon. 

5 There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in England, 
than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient Saxon for- 
tress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps through an am- 
phitheater, in which cultivation is richly blended with wood- 
land, and on a mount, ascending from the river, well defended 
10 by walls and ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its 
Saxon name implies, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal 
residence of the kings of England. The outer walls have prob- 
ably been added by the Normans, but the inner keep beai's 
token of very great antiquity. It is situated on a mount at 
15 one angle of the inner court, and forms a complete circle of per- 
haps twenty-five feet in diameter. The wall is of immense 
thickness, and is propped or defended by six huge external 
buttresses which project from the circle, and rise up against 
the sides of the tower as if to strengthen or to support it. 
20 These massive buttresses are solid when they arise from the 
foundation, and a good way higher up;v but are hollowed out 
towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turret communicat- 
ing with the interior of the keep itself. The distant appear- 
ance of this huge building, with these singular accompaniments, 
25 is as interesting to the lovers of the picturesque, as the interior 
of the castle is to the eager antiquary, whose imagination it 
carries back to the days of the heptarchy. A barrow, in the 
^cinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb of the memo- 
rable Hengist ; and various monuments of great antiquity and 
30 curiosity , are shown in the neighboring churchyard. 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this rude 
yet stately building, it was not, as at present, surrounded by 
external fortifications. The Saxon architect had exhausted 
his art in rendering the main keep defensible, and there was 
35 no other circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the tower, 
announced that the obsequies of the late owner were still in the 
act of being solemnized. It bore no emblem of the deceased’s 
Wrth or quality, for armorial bearings were then a novelty 


IVANHOE. 


431 


among the Norman chivalry themselves, and were totally un- 
known to the Saxons. But above the gate was another ban- 
ner, on which the figure of a white horse, rudely painted, in- 
dicated the nation and rank of the deceased, by the well-known 
symbol of Hengist and his Saxon warrioi’S. 5 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion ; for 
such funeral banquets were times of general and profuse hos- 
jDitality, \vhich not only ever}" one who could claim the most 
distant connection with the deceased, but all passengers what- 
soever, were invited to partake. The wealth and consequence 10 
of the deceased Athelstane occasioned this custom to be ob- 
served in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and de- 
scending the hill on which the castle was situated ; and when 
the King and his attendants entered the open and unguarded 15 
gates of- the external barrier, the space within presented a scene 
not easily reconciled with the cause of the assemblage. In one 
place cooks were toiling to roast huge oxen and fat sheep ; in 
another, hogsheads of ale were set abroach, to be drained at 
the freedom of all comers. Groups of every description were 20 
to be seen devouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus 
abandoned to their discretion. The naked Saxon serf was 
drowning the sense of his half-year’s hunger and thirst, in one 
day of gluttony and drunkenness — the more pampered burgess 
and guild-brother was eating his morsel with gust, or curiously 25 
criticising the quantity of the malt and the skill of the brewer. 
Some few of the poorer Noraian gentry might also be seen, 
distinguished by their shaven chins and short cloaks, and not 
less so by their keeping together, and looking with great scorn 
on the whole solemnity, even while condescending to avail 30 
themselves of the good cheer which was so liberally supplied. 

Mendicants were of course assembled by the score, together 
with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine, (according to 
their own account at least,) pedlars were displaying their wares, 
traveling mechanics were inquiring after employment, and 35 
wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and Welsh 
bards, were muttering prayers, and extracting mistuned dirges 
from their harps, crowds, and rotes. One sent forth the praises 
of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; another, in a Saxon gene- 


432 


lYANHOE* 


alogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and harsh names of his 
]ioble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers were not wanting, nor 
was the occasion of the assembly supposed to render the exer- 
cise of their profession indecorous or improper. Indeed, the 
5 ideas of the Saxons on these occasions were as natural as they 
were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was drink — if hungry, 
there was food — if it sunk down upon and saddened the heart, 
here were the means supplied of mirth, or at least of amuse- 
ment. Nor did the assistants scorn to avail themselves of those 
10 means of consolation, although, every now and then, as if sud- 
denly recollecting the cause which had brought them together, 
the men groaned in unison, while the females, of whom many 
were present, raised up their voices and shrieked for very 
wo^ 

15 Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburg when 
it was entered by Richard and his followers. The seneschal or 
steward deigned not to take notice of the groups of inferior 
guests who were perpetually entering and withdrawing, unless 
so far as was necessary to preserve order ; nevertheless he was 
20 struck by the good mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more 
especially as he imagined the features of the latter were familiar 
to him. Besides, the approach of two knights, for such their 
dress bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon solemnity, and 
could not but be regarded as a sort of honor to the deceased 
25 and his family. And in his sable dress, and holding in his 
hand his white wand of office, this important personage made 
way through the miscellaneous assemblage of guests, thus con- 
ducting Richard and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the tower. 
Gurth and Wamba speedily found acquaintances in the coiirt- 
CO yard, nor presumed to intrude themselves any farther until 
their presence should be required. 


IVANHOE. 


433 


CHAPTER XLII. 

I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melod}", 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, — 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play. 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh Castle 
is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity of the early 
times in which it was erected. A flight of steps, so deep and 
narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portal in 
the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous anti- 
quary may still, or at least could a few years since, gain access 
to a small stair within the thickness of the main wall of the 
tower, which leads up to the third story of the building, — the 
two lower being dungeons or vaults, which neither receive air 
nor light, save by a square hole in the third story, with which 
they seemed to have communicated by a ladder. The access 
to the upper apartments in the tower, which consist in all of 
four stories, is given by stairs which are carried up through 
the external buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King 
Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered into the 
round apartment which occupies the whole of the third story 
from the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the ascent, 
gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it had been 
held expedient that he should not present himself to his father 
until the King should give him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished represen- 
tatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. They 
were all old, or, at least, elderly men; for the younger race, to 
the great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, broken 
down many of the barriers which separated for half a century 
the Norman victors from the vanquished Saxons. The down- 
cast and sorrowful looks of these venerable men, their silence 
and their mournful posture, formed a strong contrast to the 
2S 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


434 


IVANHOE. 


levity of the revelers on the outside of the castle. Their gray 
locks and long full beards, together with their antique tunics 
and loose black mantles, suited well with the singular and rude 
apartment in which they were seated, and gave the appearance 
Bof a band of ancient worshipers of Woden, recalled to life to 
mourn over the decay of their national glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, seemed 
yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the assembly. Upon 
the entrance of Eichard (only known to him as the valorous 
10 Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him wel- 
come by the ordinary salutation, Waes hael^ raising at the same 
time a goblet to his head. The King, no stranger to the cus- 
toms of his English subjects, returned the greeting with the 
appropriate words. Drink hael, and partook of a cup which was 
15 handed to him by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered 
to Ivanhoe, who pledged his father in silence, supplying the 
usual speech by an inclination of his head, lest his voice should 
have been recognized 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric 
20 arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, conducted him into 
a small and very rude chapel, which was excavated, as it were, 
out of one of the external buttresses. As there was no open- 
ing, saving a very narrow loophole, the place would have been 
nearly quite dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which 
25 showed, by a red and smoky light, the arched roof and naked 
walls, the rude altar of stone, and the crucifix of the same 
material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of this 
bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and muttered 
30 their prayers, with the greatest signs of external devotion. 
For this service a splendid sonl-scat was paid to the convent of 
Saint Edmund’s by the mother of the deceased ; and, that it 
might be fully deserved, the whole brethren, saving the lame 
Sacristan, had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, 
35 while six of their number were constantly on guard in the per- 
formance of divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, tlie otliers 
failed not to take their share of the refreshments and amuse- 
ments which went on at the castle. In maintaining this pious 
watch and ward, the good monks were particularly careful not 


IVANHOE. 


435 


to interrui)t their hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock, the 
ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches on the de- 
parted Athelstane. Nor were they less careful to prevent any 
unhallowed layman from touching the pall, which, having been 
that used at the funeral of Saint Edmund, was liable to be 
desecrated, if handled by the profane. If, in truth, these 
attentions could be of any use to the deceased, he had some right 
to expect them at the hands of the brethren of Saint Edmund’s, 
since, besides a dozen mancuses of gold paid down as the soul- 
rai^ohi,/ the mother of Athelstane had announced her intention 
of endo;^ing that foundation with the better part of the lands 
of the^eceased, in order to maintain perpetual prayers for his 
^oul/and that of her departed husband. 

Kichard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the 
apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed with solemn 
air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they followed his exam- 
ple in devoutly crossing themselves, and muttering a brief 
prayer for the weal of the departed soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again motioned 
them to follow him, gliding over the stone floor with a noiseless 
tread ; and, after ascending a few steps, opened with great cau- 
tion the door of a small oratory, which adjoined to the chapel. 
It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like the chapel itself, 
out of the thickness of the wall; and the loophole, which en- 
lightened it, being to the west, and widening considerably as 
it sloped inward, a beam of the setting sun found its way into 
its dark recess, and showed a female of a dignified mien, and 
whose countenance retained the marked remains of majestic 
beauty. Her long mourning robes and her flowing wimple of 
black cypress enhanced the whiteness of her skin, and the 
beauty of her light-colored and flowing tresses, which time had 
neither thinned nor mingled with silver. Her countenance 
expressed the deepest sorrow that is consistent with resigna- 
tion. On the stone table before her stood a crucifix of ivory, 
beside which was laid a missal, having its pages richly illu- 
minated, and its boards adorned with clasps of gold, and bosses 
of the same precious metal. 

“Noble Edith,” said Cedric, after having stood a moment 
silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred time to look upon the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


436 


IVANHOE. 


lady of the mansion, “these are worthy strangers, come to 
take a part in thy sorrows. And this, in especial, is the valiant 
Knight who fought so bravely for the deliverance of him for 
whom we this day mourn.” 

5 ‘ ‘ His bravery has my thanks, ” returned the lady ; ‘ ‘ although 

it be the will of Heaven that it should be displayed in vain. I 
thank, too, his courtesy, and that of his companion, which 
hath brought them hither to behold the widow of Adeling, the 
mother of Athelstane, in her deep hour of sorrow and lamen- 
10 tation. To your care, kind kinsman, I intrust them, satisfied 
that they will want no hospitality which these sad walls can 
yet afford.” 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and with- 
drew with their hospitable guide. 

15 Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment of 
the same size with that which they had first entered, occupy- 
ing indeed the same story immediately above. From this 
room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low and mel- 
ancholy strain of vocal music. When they entered, they found 
20 themselves in the presence of about twenty matrons and maid- 
ens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Four maidens, Eowena 
leading the choir, raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, 
of which we have only been able to decipher two or three 
stanzas: — 

Bust unto dust, 

To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown. 

To seek the realms of woe, 

Where flery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 

By Mary’s grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be f 
Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 


IVANHOE. 


437 


While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy tone, by 
the female choristers, the others were divided into two bands, 
of which one was engaged in bedecking, with such embroidery 
as their skill and taste could compass, a large silken pall, 
destined to cover the bier of Athelstane, while the others busied 5 
themselves in selecting, from baskets of flowers placed before 
them, garlands, which they intended for the same mournful 
purpose. The behavior of the maidens was decorous, if not 
marked with deep affliction; but now and then a whisper or a 
sn^ile called forth the rebuke of the severer matrons, and here 10 
and there might be seen a damsel more interested in endeavor- 
ing to And out how her mourning-robe became her, than in the 
dismal ceremony for which they were preparing. Neither was 
ihis propensity (if we must needs confess the truth) at all dimm- 
ished by the appearance of two strange knights, which occa- 15 
sioned some looking up, peeping, and whispering. Rowena 
alone, too proud to be vain, paid her greeting to her deliverer 
with a graceful courtesy. Her demeanor was serious, but not 
dejected ; and it may be doubted whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, 
and of the uncertainty of his fate, did not claim as great a share 20 
in her gravity as the death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not re- 
markably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of his 
ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other maidens, that 
he deemed it proper to whisper the explanation. — “ She was the 25 
affianced bride of the noble Athelstane.” — It may be doubted 
whether this communication went a far way to increase 
Wilfred’s disposition to sympathize with the mourners of 
Coningsburgh 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the different 30 
chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were celebrated 
under different forms, Cedric conducted them into a small 
room, destined, as he informed them, for the exclusive accom- 
modation of honorable guests, whose more slight connection 
with the deceased might render them unwilling to join those 35 
who were immediately affected by the unhappy event. He 
assured them of every accommodation, and was about to 
withdraw when the Black Knight took his hand. 

“ I crave to remind you, noble Thane,” he said, “ that when 


438 


IVANHOE. 


we last parted, you promised, for the service I had the fortune 
to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

“ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric; “ yet, 
at this sad moment — ” 

5 “Of that also,” said the King, “ I have bethought me — but 
my time is brief — neither does it seem to me unfit, that, when 
closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should deposit 
therein certain prejudices and hasty opinions.” 

“Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, coloring, and 
10 interrupting the King in his turn, “ I trust your boon regards 
yourself and no other ^ for in that which concerns the honor 
of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle.” 

“Nor do I Avish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, “ unless 
in so far as you will admit me to have an interest. As yet you 
15 have known me but as the Black Knight of the Fetterlock — 
know me now as Richard Plantagenet.” 

“Richard of Anjou! ” exclaimed Cedric, stepping backward 
With the utmost astonishment. 

“No, noble Cedric — Richard of England! — Avhose deepest 
20 interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united with 
each other. — And, how now, worthy Thane! hast thou no knee 
for thy prince ? ” 

“ To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “it hath never bended.” 

“Reserve thine homage then,” said the Monarch, “until I 
25 shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of Normans 
and English.” 

“ Prince,” answered Cedric, “ I have ever done justice to thy 
bravery and thy worth — nor am I ignorant of thy claim to 
the crown through thy descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar 
30 Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda, 
though of the royal Saxon blood, was not the heir to the 
monarchy.” 

“ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble Thane,” said 
Richard, calmly; “ but I will bid thee look around thee, and 
35 see where thou wilt find another to be put into the scale 
against it.” 

“And hast thou wandered hither. Prince, to tell me so?” 
said Cedric — “ to upbraid me with the ruin of my race, ere the 
grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon royalty ? ” — His 


IVANHOE. 


439 


countenance darkened as he spoke. — “It was boldly — it was 
rashly done!” 

“ Not so, by the holy rood! ” replied the King; “ it was done 
in the frank confidence which one brave man may repose in 
another, without a shadow of danger.” 5 

“Thou sayest well. Sir King — for King I own thou art, and 
wilt he, despite of ;ny feeble opposition. — I dare not take the 
only mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed the strong 
.^jtpmptation within my reach ! ” 

“ And now to my boon,” said the King, “which I ask not 10 
wit^ one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused to 
acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, as a 
man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, man-sworn, 
and nidering^ to forgive and receive to thy paternal affection 
the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconciliation 15 
thou wilt own I have an interest — the happiness of my friend, 
and the quelling of dissension among my faithful people.” 

“ And this is Wilfred! ” said Cedric, pointing to his son. 

“My father! — my father!” said Ivanhoe, prostrating him- 
self at Cedric’s feet, “grant me thy forgiveness! ” 20 

“ Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. “ The 
son of Here ward knows how to keep his word; even when it 
has been passed to a Norman. But let me see thee use the 
dress and costume of thy English ancestry — no short cloaks, 
no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in my decent household. 25 
He that would be the son of Cedric, must show himself of Eng- 
lish ancestry. — Thou art about to speak,” he added sternly, 
“and I guess the topic. The Lady Rowena must complete 
two years’ mourning, as for a betrothed husband — all our 
Saxon ancestors would disown us were we to treat of a new 30 
union for her ere the grave of him she should have wedded — 
him, so much the most worthy of her hand by birth and 
ancestry — is yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would 
burst his bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such 
dishonor to his memory.” 35 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a specter: for 
scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athel- 
stane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, 
pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead ! 


440 


IVANHOE. 


The effect of this apparition on the persons present was 
utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of 
the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one 
unable to support himself, gazed on the figure of his friend 
5 with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared 
incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating 
prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman- French, as they occurred 
to his memory, while Richard alternately said Benedicite and 
swore, Mort de ma vie ! 

10 In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, 
some crying, ‘ ‘ Secure the treacherous monks ! ” — others, 
“ Down with them into the dungeon I ” — others, ‘‘ Pitch them 
from the highest battlements ! ” 

“ In the name of God ! ” said Cedric, addressing what seemed 
15 the specter of his departed friend, “ if thou art mortal, speak! 
— if a departed spirit, say for what cause thou dost revisit us, 
or if I can do aught that can set thy spirit at repose. — Living 
or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric ! ” 

“ I will,” said the specter, very composedly, “ when I have 
20 collected breath, and when you give me time. — Alive, saidst 
thou ? — I am as much alive as he can be who has fed on bread 
and water for three days, which seem three ages. — Yes, bread 
and water. Father Cedric ! By Heaven, and all saints in it, 
better food hath not passed my weasand for three livelong 
25 days, and by God's providence it is that I am now here to 
tell it.” 

“ Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, “ I myself 
saw you struck down by the fierce Templar towards the end 
of the storm at Torquilstone, and as I thought, and Wamba 
30 reported, your skull was cloven through the teeth.” 

“You thought amiss. Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, “and 
Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and that my supper 
shall presently find. — No thanks to the Templar though, whose 
sword turned in his hand, so that the blade struck me flatlings, 
35 being averted by the handle of the good mace with which I 
warded the blow ; had my steel-cap been on, I had not valued 
it a rush, and had dealt him such a counter buff as would have 
spoiled his retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, in- 
deed, but un wounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down 


IVANHOE. 


441 


and slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my senses 
until I found myself in a coffin — (an open one by good luck) — 
placed before the altar of the church of Saint Edmund’s. I 
sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened, and would have 
arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror, came run- 
at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and no way pleased to 
find the man alive, whose heirs they had proposed themselves 
tp/ be. I asked for wine — they gave me some, but it must have 
been highly medicated, for I slept yet more deeply than before, 
and wakened not for many hours. I found my arms swathed 
down — my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache at the very 
remembrance — the place was utterly dark — the oubliette, as I 
suppose, of their accursed convent, and from the close, stifled, 
damp smell, I conceive it is also used for a place of sepulture. 
I had strange thoughts of what had befallen me, when the 
door of my dungeon creaked, and two villain monks entered. 
They would have persuaded me I was in purgatory, but I knew 
too w^ell the pursy short-breathed voice of the Father Abbot. — 
Saint Jeremy ! how different from that tone with which he 
used to ask me for another slice of the haunch ! — the dog has 
feasted with me from Christmas to Twelfth-night.” 

‘‘Have patience, noble Athelstane,” said the King, “take 
breath— tell your story at leisure — beshrew me but such a tale 
is as well worth listening to as a romance.” 

“ Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no romance 
in the matter! ” said Athelstane. — “A barley loaf and a pitcher 
of water — that they gave me, the niggardly traitors, whom my 
father, and I myself, had enriched, when their best resources 
were the flitches of bacon and measures of corn, out of which 
they wdieedled poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange for their 
prayers — the nest of foul ungrateful vipers — barley bread and 
ditch water to such a patron as I had been I I will smoke them 
out of their nest, though I be excommunicated ! ” 

“But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,” said 
Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, ‘ ‘ how didst thou 
escape this imminent danger? — did their hearts relent ? ” 

“ Did their hearts relent! ” echoed Athelstane. — “ Do rocks 
melt wdth the sun ? I should have been there still, had not 
some stir in the convent, wdiich I find was their procession 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


442 


IVANHOE/ 


hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they well knew how 
and where I had been buried alive, summoned the swarm out 
of their hive. I heard them droning out their death-psalms, 
little judging they were sung in respect for my soul by those 
5 who were thus famishing my body. They went, however, and 
I waited long for food — no wonder — the gouty Sacristan was 
even too busy with his own provender to mind mine. At 
length down he came, with an unstable step and a strong flavor 
of wine and spices about his person. Good cheer had opened 
10 his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of wine, 
instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was invigorated ; 
when, to add to my good luck, the Sacristan, too totty to dis- 
charge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked the door beside the 
staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, the food, the wine, set 
15 my invention to work. The staple to which my chains were 
fixed, was more rusted than I or the villain Abbot had sup- 
posed. Even iron could not remain without consuming in the 
damps of that infernal dungeon.” 

“ Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Richard, “ and par- 
20 take of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale so dread- 
ful.” 

“ Partake! ” quoth Athelstane; “ I have been partaking five 
times to-day — and yet a morsel of that savory ham were not 
altogether foreign to the matter; and I pray you, fair sir, to 
25 do me reason in a cup of wine.” 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, pledged 
their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded in his story : — 
He had indeed now many more auditors than those to whom it 
was commenced, for Edith, having given certain necessary 
30 orders for arranging matters within the Castle, had followed 
the dead-alive up to the stranger’s apartment, attended by as 
many of the guests, male and female, as could squeeze into the 
small room, while others, crowding the staircase, caught up an 
erroneous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more 
35 inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to the 
vulgar without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to the real 
fact. Athelstane, however, went on as follows, with the history 
of his escape : — 

“ Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself up- 


IVANHOE. 


443 


stairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaciated 
with fasting, might; and after much groping about, I was at 
length directed, by the soundof a jolly roundelay, to the apart- 
ment where the worthy Sacristan, an it so please ye, was 
holding a devil’s mass with a huge, beetle-browed, broad- 
shpuldered brother of the gray -frock and cowl, who looked 
vjnuch more like a thief than a clergyman. I burst in upon 
them, and the fashion of my grave-clothes, as well as the clank- 
ing of my chains, made me more resemble an inhabitant of the 
other world than of this. Both stood aghast; but when I 
knocked down the Sacristan with my fist, the other fellow, his 
pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with a huge quarter-staff.” 

“ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom,” said 
Richard, looking at Ivan hoe. 

“ He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. “ For- 
tunately he missed the aim ; and on my approaching to grapple 
with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I failed not to set 
my own heels at liberty by means of the fetter-key, which hung 
amongst others at the sexton’s belt; and I had thoughts of 
beating out the knave’s brains with the bunch of keys, but 
gratitude for the nook of pasty and the fiask of wine which the 
rascal had imparted to my captivity, came over my heart ; so, 
with a brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the fioor, pouched 
some baked meat, and a leathern bottle of wine, with which the 
two venerable brethren had been regaling, went to the stable, 
and found in a private stall mine own best palfrey, which, 
doubtless, had been set apart for the holy Father Abbot’s par- 
ticular use. Hither I came with all the speed the beast could 
compass — man and mother’s son fiying before me wherever I 
came, taking me for a specter, the more especially as, to pre- 
vent my being recognized, I drew the corpse-hood over my face. 
I had not gained adniittance into my own castle, had I not 
been supposed to be the attendant of a juggler who is making 
the people in the castle-yard very merry, considering they are 
assembled to celebrate their lord’s funeral — I say the sewer 
thought I was dressed to bear a part in the tregetour’s mum- 
mery, and so I got admission, and did but disclose myself to 
my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere I came in qpest of you^ 
my noble friend.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


444 


IVANHOE. 


“ And you have found me,” said Cedric, “ ready to resume 
our brave projects of honor and liberty. I tell thee, never will 
dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next, for the deliverance 
of the noble Saxon race.” 

6 “Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athelstane; 
“ it is well I am delivered myself. I am more intent on pun- 
ishing that villain Abbot. He shall hang on the top of this 
Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole; and if the stairs 
be too straight to admit his fat carcass, I will have him craned 
10 up from without.” 

“ But, my son,” said Edith, “ consider his sacred office.” 

“ Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane; “ I will 
have their blood every one of them . Front-de-Boeuf was burned 
alive for a less matter, for he kept a good table for his prisoners, 
15 only put too much garlic in his last dish of pottage. But these 
hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so often the self-invited flat- 
terers at my board, who gave me neither pottage nor garlic, 
more or less, they die, by the soul of Hengist ! ” 

“ But the Pope, my noble friend,” — said Cedric — 

20 “But the devil, my noble friend,” — answered Athelstane; 
“ they die, and no more of them. Were they the best monks 
upon earth, the world would go on without them.” 

“ For shame, noble Athelstane,” said Cedric ; “ forget such 
wretches in the career of glory which lies open before thee. 
25 Tell this Norman prince, Kichard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted 
as he is, he shall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred, 
while a male descendant of the Holy Confessor lives to dis- 
pute it.” 

“ How ! ” said Athelstane, “ is this the noble KingEichard? ” 
30 “It is Eichard Plantagenet himself,” said Cedric; “yeti 
need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of free-will, 
he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner — thou well 
knowest thy duty to him as his host.” 

“ Ay, by my faith! ” said Athelstane; “ and my duty as a 
35 subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, heart and 
hand.” 

“ My son,” said Edith, “ think on thy royal rights! ” 

“Think on the freedom of England, degenerate Prince!” 
said Cedric, 


IVANHOE. 


445 


“Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “ a truce to your up- 
braidings — bread and water and a dungeon are marvelous 
mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a wiser man 
^tfh^n I descended into it. One half of those vain follies were 
puffed into mine ear by that perfidious Abbot Wolfram, and 
^ou may now judge if he is a counselor to be trusted. Since 
//'these plots were set in agitation, I have had nothing but hur- 
ried journeys, indigestions, blows and bruises, imprisonments 
and starvation ; besides that they can only end in the murder 
of some thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in 
my own domains, and nowhere else; and my first act of domin- 
ion shall be to hang the Abbot.” 

“ And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric — “ I trust you intend 
not to desert her ? ” 

“Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “be reasonable. The 
Lady Rowena cares not for me — she loves the little finger of 
my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole person. 
There she stands to avouch it.— Nay, blush not, kinswoman, 
there is no shame in loving a courtly knight better than a 
country franklin — and do not laugh neither, Rowena, for grave- 
clothes and a thin visage are, God knows, no matter of merri- 
ment. — Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, I will find thee a better 
jest. Give me thy hand, or rather lend it me, for I but ask it 
in the way of friendship. — Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, 
in thy favor I renounce and abjure — Hey! by Saint Dunstan, 
our cousin Wilfred hath vanished ! — Yet, unless my eyes are 
still dazzled with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him 
stand there but even now.” 

All now looked around and inquired for Ivanhoe, but he had 
vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew had been to 
seek him ; and that, after very brief conference, he had called 
for Gurth and his armor, and had left the castle. 

“ Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, “could I think 
that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was occasioned by 
other than the weightiest reason, I would myself resume — ” 

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing that 
Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had found her 
situation extremely embarrassing, had taken the first oppor- 
tunity to escape from the apartment. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


446 


IVANHOE. 


Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “ women are the least to he 
trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I am an 
infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and perhaps a kiss 
to boot. — These cursed grave-clothes have surely a spell on 
6 them, every one flies from me. — To you I turn, noble King 
Eichard, with the vows of allegiance, which, as a liege-sub- 
ject — ” 

But King Eichard was gone also, and no one knew whither. 
At length it was learned that he had hastened to the court- 
10 yard, summoned to his presence the Jew who had spoken with 
Ivanhoe, and after a moment’s speech with him, had called 
vehemently to horse, thrown himself upon a steed, compelled 
the Jew to mount another, and set off at a rate, which, accord- 
ing to Wamba, rendered the old Jew’s neck not worth a penny’s 
15 purchase. 

“By my halidom!” said Athelstane, “it is certain that 
Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in my absence. 
I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge restored from the very 
sepulcher, and every one I speak to vanishes as soon as they 
20 hear my voice! — But it skills not talking of it. Come, my 
friends — such of you as are left, follow me to the banquet-hall, 
lest any more of us disappear. It is, I trust, as yet tolerably 
furnished, as becomes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon noble ; 
and should we tarry any longer, who knows but the devil may 
25 fly off with the supper ? ” 


CHAPTEE XLIII. 

Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom. 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the iists, 

A caitiff recreant I 

Richard II. 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the Castle, or Pre- 
ceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the bloody die 
was to be cast for the life or death of Eebecca. It was a scene 
of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity had poured forth its 
ao inhabitants to a village wake, or hural feast. But the earnest 
desire to look on blood and death, is not peculiar to those dark 


IVANHOE. 


447 


ages ; though in the gladiatorial exercise of single combat and 
general tourney, tliey were habituated to the bloody spectacle 
^^f brave men falling by each other’s hands. Even in our own 
d^s, when morals are better understood, an execution, a 
^raising match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers, 5 
collects, at considerable hazard to themselves, immense crowds 
of spectators, otherwise little interested, except to see how 
matters are to be conducted, or whether the heroes of the day 
are, in the heroic language of insurgent tailors, flints or dung- 
hills. 10 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude, w ere 
bent on the gate of the Preceptory of Templestowe, with the 
purpose of witnessing the procession ; while still greater num- 
bers had already surrounded the tiltyard belonging to that es- 
tablishment. This inclosure was formed on a piece of level 15 
ground adjoining to the Preceptory, which had been leveled 
with care, for the exercise of military and chivalrous sports. 

It occupied the brow of a soft and gentle eminence, was care- 
fully palisaded around, and, as the Templars willingly invited 
spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of chivalry, 20 
was amply supplied with galleries and benches for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the Grand 
Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinction for 
the Preceptors and Knights of the Order. Over these floated 
the sacred standard, called Le Beau-seant^ which was the en- 25 
sign, as its name was the battle-cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of fagots, so ar- 
ranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to leave 
a space for the victim whom they were destined to consume, to 
enter within the fatal circle, in order to be chained to the stake SO 
by the fetters which hung ready for that purpose. Beside this 
deadly apparatus stood four black slaves, whose color and 
African features, then so little known in England, appalled the 
multitude, who gazed on them as on demons employed about 
their own diabolical exercises. These men stirred not, except- Sli 
ing now and then, under the direction of one who seemed their 
chief, to shift and replace the ready fuel. They looked not on 
the multitude. In fact, they seemed insensible of their pres- 
ence, and of everything save the discharge of their own hor- 


448 


IVANHOE. 


rible duty. And when, in speech with each other, they ex- 
panded their blubber lips, and showed their white fangs, as if 
they grinned at the thoughts of the expected tragedy, the 
startled commons could scarcely help believing that they were 
^ actually the familiar spirits with whom the witch had com- 
muned, and who, her time being out, stood ready to assist in 
her dreadful punishment. They whispered to each other, and 
communicated all the feats which Satan had performed during 
that busy and unhappy period, not failing, of course, to give 
the devil rather more than his due. 

“Have you not heard, Father Dennet,” quoth one boor to 
another advanced in years, “ that the devil has carried away 
bodily the great Saxon Thane, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ? ” 

“Ay, but he brought him back though, by the blessing of 
God and Saint Dunstan.” 

“ How’s that ? ” said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a green 
cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his heels a stout 
lad bearing a harp upon his back, which betrayed his voca- 
tion. The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar rank; for, besides the 
splendor of his gayly broidered doublet, he wore around his 
neck a silver chain, by which hung the wrest ^ or key, with 
which he tuned his harp. On his right arm was a silver plate, 
which, instead of bearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of 
the baron to whose family he belonged, had barely the word 
Sherwood engraved upon it. — “How mean you by that?” 
said the gay Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of the 
peasants; “ I came to seek one subject for my rhyme, and by’r 
Lady, I were glad to find two.” 

“ It is well avouched,” said the elder peasant, “that after 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four weeks — ” 

“ That is impossible,” said the Minstrel; “ I saw him in life 
at the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“ Dead, however, he was, or else translated,” said the younger 
peasant; “ for I heard the monks of Saint Edmund’s singing 
the death’s hymn for him ; and, moreover, there was a rich , 
death-meal and dole at the Castle of Coningsburgh, as right \ 
was; and thither had I gone, but for Mabel Parkins, ’who — ” . 

‘ Ay, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shaking his f* 
head, “ and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon blood — ” J 


IVANHOE. 


449 


“But, your story, my masters — your story,” said the Min- 
^^rel, somewhat impatiently. 

)“Ay, ay — construe us the story,” said a burly Friar, who 
Ftood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited an appear- 
ance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter-staff, and probably 5 
acted as either when occasion served. — “Your story,” said the 
stalwart churchman; “ burn not daylight about it — we have 
short time to spare. ” 

‘ ‘ An please your reverence,” said Dennet, ‘ ‘ a drunken priest 
came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s — ” 10 • 

‘ ‘ It does not please my reverence,” answered the churchman, 

‘ ‘ that there should be such an animal as a drunken priest, or, if 
there were, that a layman should so speak him. Be mannerly, 
my friend, and conclude the holy man only wrapt in meditation, 
which makes the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stom- 15 
ach were filled with new wine — I have felt it myself.” 

“Well, then,” answered Father Dennet, “a holy brother 
came to visit tlie Sacristan at Saint Edmund s — a sort of hedge- 
priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are stolen in 
the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the 20 
sacring-bell, and deems a fiitch of bacon worth ten of his bre- 
viary ; for the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who will fiourish 
a quarter-staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round, with 
e’er a man in Yorkshire.” 

“ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Minstrel, 25 
has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

“Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet; “I am some- 
what old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and ram at 
Doncaster — ” 

“But the story — the story, my friend,” again said the so 
Minstrel. 

“Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
was buried at Saint Edmund’s.” 

“ That’s a lie, and a loud one,” said the Friar, “ for I saw 
him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 85 

“Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” said 
Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradictions ; and it 
was with some difficulty that the boor could be prevailed on, 
by the request of his comrade, and the Minstrel, to renew his 
29 


450 


IVANHOE. 


iale. — “ These two sober friars,” said he at length, “ since this 
reverend man will needs have them such, had continued drink- 
ing good ale, and wine, and what not, for the best part of a 
summer’s day, when they were aroused by a deep groan, and 
5 a clanking of chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane 
entered the apartment, saying, ‘ Ye evil shepherds ! ” 

‘‘It is false,” said the Friar, hastily, “he never spoke a 
word.” 

“ So ho! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing him apart 
10 from the rustics; “ we have started a new hare, I find.” 

“ I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the Hermit, “ I saw Atheh 
stane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever saw a 
living man. He had his shroud on, and all about him smelt 
of the sepulcher. — A butt of sack will not wash it out of my 
15 memory.” 

“ Pshaw! ” answered the Minstrel; “ thou dost but jest with 
me!” 

“ Never believe me,” said the Friar, “an I fetched not a 
knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have felled an 
20 ox, and it glided through his body as it might through a pillar 
of smoke ! ” 

“ By Saint Hubert,” said the Minstrel, “ but it is a wondrous 
tale, and fit to be put in meter to the ancient tune, ‘ Sorrow 
came to the old Friar.’ ” 

25 “Laugh, if ye list,” said Friar Tuck; “but an ye catch me 
singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil carry me 
off with him headlong ! No, no — I instantly formed the purpose 
of assisting at some good work, such as the burning of a witch, 
a judicial combat, or the like matter of godly service, and 
CO therefore am I here.” 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church of 
Saint Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, situated 
in a hamlet at some distance from the Preceptory, broke short 
their argument. One by one the sullen sounds fell successively 
o5 on the ear, leaving but sufficient space for each to die away 
in distant echo, ere the air was again filled by repetition of the 
iron knell. These sounds, the signal of the approaching cere- 
mony, chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled multitude, 
whose eyes were new turned to the Preceptory, expecting the 


IVANHOE. 


451 


approach of the Grand Master, the champion, and the crim- 
inal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the Order, sallied from 
the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed by the £ 
Knights Preceptors, two and two, the Grand Master coming 
last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furniture was of the 
simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
armed cap-Ai)ie in bright armor, but without his lance, shield, 
and sword, which were borne by his two esquires behind him. 10 
His face, though partly hidden by a long plume which floated 
down from his barret-cap, bore a strong and mingled expres- 
sion of passion, in which pride seemed to contend with irreso- 
lution. He looked ghastly pale, as if he had not slept for sev- 
eral nights, yet reined his pawing war-horse with the habitual 15 
ease and grace proper to the best lance of the Order of the 
Temple. His general appearance was grand and command- 
ing; but, looking at him with attention, men read that in 
his dark features, from which they willingly withdrew their 
eyes. 20 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Albert de 
Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. They 
were in their robes of peace, the white dress of the Order. 
Behind them followed other Companions of the Temple, with 
a long train of esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants to 25 
the honor of being one day Knights of the Order. After these 
neophytes came a guard of warders on foot, in the same sable 
livery, amidst whose partisans might be seen the pale form of 
the accused, moving with a slow but undismayed step towards 
the scene of her fate. She was stripped of all her ornaments, 30 
lest perchance there should be among them some of those 
amulets which Satan was supposed to bestow upon his victims, 
to deprive them of the power of confession even when under 
the torture. A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had 
been substituted for her Oriental garments; yet there was such 35 
an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in her look, 
that even in this garb, and with no other ornament than her 
long black tresses, each eye wept that looked upon her, and 
the most hardened bigot regretted the fate that had converted 


452 IVAN HOE. 

a creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a waged slave 
of the devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the Preceptory 
followed the victim, all moving with the utmost order, with 
5 arms folded, and looks bent upon the ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, on the 
summit of which was the tilt-yard, and, entering the lists, 
marched once around them from right to left, and when they 
had completed the circle, made a halt. There was then a mo- 
iO mentary bustle, while the Grand Master and all his attendants, 
excepting the champion and his godfathers, dismounted from 
their horses, which were immediately removed out of the lists 
by the esquires, who were in attendance^for that purpose. 

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black chair 
15 placed near the pile. On her first glance at the terrible spot 
where preparations were making for a death alike dismaying 
to the mind and painful to the body, she was observed to shud- 
der and shut her eyes, praying internally doubtless, for her 
lips moved though no speech was heard. In the space of a 
20 minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedly on the pile as if to 
familiarize her mind with the object, and then slowly and 
naturally turned away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; and 
when the chivalry of his order was placed around and behind 
25 him, each in his due rank, a loud and long fiourish of the trum- 
pets announced that the Court were seated for judgment. 
Malvoisin, then, acting as godfather of the champion, stepped 
forward, and laid the glove > of the Jewess, which was the 
pledge of battle, at the feet of the Grand Master. 

30 “Valorous Lord, and reverend Father,” said he, “here 
standeth the good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight 
Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting the 
pledge of battle which I now lay at your reverence’s feet, hath 
become bound to do his devoir in combat this day, to maintain 
35 that this Jewish maiden, by name Rebecca, hath justly de- 
served the doom passed upon her in a Chapter of this most 
Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, condemning her to die as a 
sorceress ; — here, I say, he standeth, such battle to do, knightly 
and honorable, if such be your noble and sanctified pleasure. ” 


IVANHOE. 


453 


“ Hath he made oath/’ said the Grand Master, “ that his 
quarrel is just and honorable? Bring forward the crucifix and 
the Te igitur,’’’* 

“ Sir, and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, 
readily, ‘ ‘ our brother here present hath already sworn to the 
truth of his accusation in the hand of the good Knight Conrade 
de Mont-Fitchet ; and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing 
that his adversary is an unbeliever, and may take no oath.” 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great joy ; for 
the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, or rather im- 
possibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois-Guilbert to take 
^uch an oath before the assembly, and had invented this excuse 
to escape the necessity of his doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Albert 
Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and do his 
devoir. The trumpets then again fiourished, and a herald, 
stepping forward, proclaimed aloud, — “ Oyez, oyez, oyez. — 
Here standeth the good Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
ready to do battle with any knight of free blood, who will 
sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted to the Jewess Rebecca, 
to try by champion, in respect of lawful essoine of her own 
body ; and to such champion the reverend and valorous Grand 
Master here present allows a fair field, and equal partition of 
sun and wind, and whatever else appertains to a fair combat.” 
The trumpets again sounded, and there was a dead pause of 
many minutes. 

“ No champion appears for the appellant,” said the Grand 
Master. ‘ ‘ Go, herald, and ask her whether she expects any one 
to do battle for her in this her cause.” The herald went to the 
chair in which Rebecca was seated, and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly 
turning his horse’s head towards that end of the lists, in spite of 
hints on either side from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by 
the side of Rebecca’s chair as soon as the herald. 

“ Is this regular, and according to the law of combat? ” said 
Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

“ Albert de Malvoisin, it is,” answered Beaumanoir; “ for in 
this appeal to the judgment of God, we may not prohibit par- 
ties from having that communication with each other, which 
may best tend to bring forth the truth of the quarrel.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


454 


IVANHOE. 


In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in these terms : 
— “Damsel, the Honorable and Reverend the Grand Master 
demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a champion to do 
battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as one 
5 justly condemned to a deserved doom? ” 

“ Say to the Grand Master,” replied Rebecca, “ that I main- 
tain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned, 
lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say to him, that I 
challenge such delay as his forms will permit, to see if God, 
10 whose opportunity is in man’s extremity, will raise me up a 
deliverer; and when such uttermost space is passed, may His 
holy will be done ! ” The herald retired to carry this answer to 
the Grand Master. 

“ God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, “that Jew or Pagan 
15 should impeach us of injustice! — Until the shadows be cast 
from the west to the eastward, will we wait to see if a champion 
shall appear for this unfortunate woman. When the day is so 
far passed, let her prepare for death.” 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand Master to 
20 Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded her arms, 
and, looking up towards heaven, seemed to expect that aid from 
above which she could scarce promise herself from man. Dur- 
ing this awful pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke upon her 
ear — it was but a whisper, yet it startled her more than the 
25 summons of the herald had appeared to do. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Templar, “ dost thou hear me?” 

“ I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,” said 
the unfortunate maiden. 

“ Ay, but dost thou understand my words? ” said the Tern- 
30 plar ; ‘ ‘ for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine own 
ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, or for what 
purpose they have brought us hither. — This listed space— that 
chair— these fagots — I know their purpose, and yet it appears 
to me like something unreal — the fearful picture of a vision, 
35 which appals my sense with hideous fantasies, but convinces 
not my reason.” 

“ My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered Re- 
becca, ‘ ‘ and tell me alike that these fagots are destined to 


IVANHOE, 455 

consume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief pas- 
sage to a better world.” 

‘ ‘ Dreams, Rebecca, — dreams, ” answered the Templar ; ‘ ‘ idle 
visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser Sadducees. 
Hear me, Rebecca,” be said, proceeding with animation; “as 
better chance hast thou for life and liberty than yonder knaves 
and dotard dream of. Mount thee behind me on my steed — 

) on Zamor, the gallant horse that never failed his rider. I won 
, him in single fight from the Soldan of Trebizond — mount, I 
say, behind me — in one short hour is pursuit and inquiry far lo 
behind — a new world of pleasure opens to thee — to me a new 
career of fame. Let them speak the doom which I despise, and 
erase the name of Bois-Guilbert from their list of monastic 
'slaves ! I will wash out with blood whatever blot they may 
dare to cast on my scutcheon.” ij 

“Tempter,” said Rebecca, “begone! — Not in this last ex- 
tremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from my 
resting-place — surrounded as I am by foes, I hold thee as my 
worst and most deadly enemy — avoid thee, in the name of 
God!” 20 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the duration of 
their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. 

“ Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt ? ” he demanded 
of Bois-Guilbert; “ or is she resolute in her denial ? ” 

“ She is indeed resoZute,” said Bois-Guilbert. 25 

“ Then,” said Malvoisin, “ must thou, noble brother, resume 
thy place to attend the issue. The shades are changing on the 
circle of the dial — come, brave Bois-Guilbert — come, thou 
hope of our holy Order, and soon to be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on the 30 
knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. 

“False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on my 
rein?” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his compan- 
ion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the lists. 

“ There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart to Mont^ 35 
Fitchet, “were it well directed — but, hke the Greek fire, it 
burns whatever approaches it.” 

The Judges had now been two hours in the lists, awaiting 
in vain the appearance of a champion. 


456 


IVANHOE. 


“ And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, “ seeing she is a Jew- 
ess — and yet, by mine Order, it is hard that so young and 
beautiful a creature should perish without one blow being 
struck in her behalf! Were she ten times a witch, provided 
5 she were but the least bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff 
should ring noon on the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, 
ere he carried the matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could or 
would appear for a J e wess, accused of sorcery ; and the knights, 
10 instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each other, that it Avas 
time to declare the pledge of Eebecca forfeited. At this in- 
stant a knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the plain 
advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, 
“ A champion ! a champion I ” And despite the prepossessions 
15 and prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as 
the knight rode into the tilt-yard. The second glance, how- 
ever, served to destroy the hope that his timely arrival had ex- 
cited. His horse, urged for many miles to its utmost speed, 
appeared to reel from fatigue, and the rider, however undaunt- 
20 edly he presented himself in the lists, either from weakness, 
weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to support himself in 
the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who 'Jeiuanded his rank, his 
name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily' and 
25 boldly, “lam a good knight and noble, come hither to sus- 
tain with lance and sword the just and lawful quarrel of this 
damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the 
doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless, and to 
defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and 
30 liar; as I will prove in this field with my body against his, by 
the aid of God, of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint George, 
the good knight.” 

“ The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “ that he is 
good knight, and of honorable lineage. The Temple sendeth 
35 not forth her champions against nameless men.” 

“ My name,” said the knight, raising his helmet, “ is better 
known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. I 
am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” 

“ I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Templar, in 


IVANHOE. 


457 


a changed and hollow voice. “ Get thy wounds healed, purvey 
thee a better horse, and it may be I will liold it worth my while 
to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.” 

“Ha! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “hast thou forgotten 
that twice didst thou fall before this lance ? Eemember the 5 
lists at Acre — remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby — 
remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of Eotherwood, and the 
gage of your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou wouldst 
do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover the honor thou 
hadst lost ! By that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, 1C 
I will proclaim thee. Templar, a coward in every court in 
Europe — in every Preceptory of thine Order — unless thou do 
battle without farther delay.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards 
Eebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, 15 
“Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death 
thou hast drawn upon thee ! ” ' 

“Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?” said 
Ivanhoe. 

“ I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the Grand 20 
Master, “provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. 
Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy 
of our Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honor- 
ably met with.” 

“Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivanhoe; 25 
“ it is the judgment of God — to His keeping I commend my- 
self. — Eebecca,” said he, riding up to the fatal chair, “ dost 
thou accept of me for thy champion ? ” 

“ I do,” she said — “ I do,” fluttered by an emotion which the 
fear of death had been unable to produce, “I do accept thee as 30 
the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no — no — • 
thy wounds are uncured. — Meet not that proud man — why 
shouldst thou perish also ? ” 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his visor, 
and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same ; and his 35 
esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, which 
had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which he had 
been agitated, continued during the whole morning of an ashy 
paleness, was now become suddenly very much flushed. 


458 


IVANHOE. 


The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted 
his voice, repeating thrice — Faites vos devoirs^ preux chevaliers ! 
After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, and 
again proclaimed, that none, on peril of instant death, should 
5 dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or disturb this 
fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand 
the gage of battle, Rebecca’s glove, now threw it into the lists, 
and pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez alter. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other 
10 in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less 
exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the 
well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. This issue 
of the combat all had foreseen ; but although the spear of Ivan- 
hoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, 
15 that champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled 
in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon 
on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword ; but his 
antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast, 
20 and the sword’s point to his throat, commanded him to yield 
him, or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no answer. 

“ Slay him not. Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Master, “ un- 
shriven and unabsolved — kill not body and soul! We allow 
him vanquished.” 

25 He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm 
the conquered champion. His eyes were closed — the dark red 
flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonish- 
ment, the eyes opened — but they were fixed and glazed. The 
flush passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of 
30 death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a 
victim to the violence of his own contending passions. 

“ This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the Grand 
Master, looking upwards— “ Fiat voluntas tua! ” 


IVANHOE. 


459 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

So ! now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story.. 

Webster. 

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, 
if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in the 
combat? 

Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said the Grand 
Master; “I pronounce the maiden free and guiltless. — The 
arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the will of 
the victor.” 

“ I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the Knight of 
Ivanhoe, ‘ ‘ nor condemn his corpse to shame — he hath fought 
for Christendom — God’s arm, no human hand, hath this day 
struck him down. But let his obsequies be private, as becomes 
those of a man who died in an unjust quarrel. — And for the 
maiden — ” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, advancing 
in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before 
them; and the Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was 
followed by a numerous band of men-at-arms, and several 
knights in complete armor. 

‘ ‘ I am too late,” he said, looking around him. ‘ ‘ I had doomed 
Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. — Ivanhoe, was this well, 
to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce able to keep 
thy saddle ? ” ^ 

“ Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “ hath taken this 
proud man for its victim. He was not to be honored in dying 
as your will had designed.” 

“Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking steadfastly on 
the corpse, “ if it may be so— he was a gaUant knight, and has 
died in his steel harness full knightly. But we must waste no 
« time — Bohun, do thine office ! ” 

A knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, and, 
laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, 
“ I arrest thee of High Treason,” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


460 


IVANHOE. 


The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the ap- 
pearance of so many warriors. — He now spoke. 

“ Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, within 
the girth of his own Preceptory, and in the presence of the 
5 Grand Master ? and by whose authority is this bold outrage 
offered?” 

“ I make the arrest,” replied the knight — “ I, Henry Bohun, 
Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.” 

“And he arrests Mai voisin,” said the King, raising his visor, 
10 “by the order of Richard Plantagenet, here present. — Conrade 
Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no subject of 
mine. — But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother 
Philip, ere the world be a week older.” 

“ I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master. 

15 “Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not— look 
up, and behold the Royal Standard of England floats over 
thy towers instead of thy Temple banner! — Be wise, Beau- 
manoir, and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand is in the 
lion’s mouth.” 

20 “I will appeal to Rome against thee,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter, ‘ ‘ for usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our 
Order.” 

“ Be it so,” said the King; “but for thine own sake tax me 
not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart 
25 with thy followers to thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find 
one,) which has not been made the scene of treasonable con- 
spiracy against the King of England. Or, if thou wilt, remain, 
to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.” 

“To be a guest in the house where I should command ? ” 
30 said the Templar ; “never ! — Chaplains, raise the Psalm, Quare 
fremuerunt Gentes f — Knights, squires, and followers of the 
Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner of Beau-seant ! ” 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted 
even that of England’s king himself, and inspired courage into 
C5 his surprised and dismayed followers. They gathered around 
him like the sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the 
baying of the wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of the 
scared flock — there were dark brows of defiance, and looks 
which menaced the hostility they dared not to proffer in words. 


IVANHOE. 


461 


They drew together in a dark line of spears, from which the 
white cloaks of the knights were visible among the dusky gar- 
ments of their retainers, like the lighter-colored edges of a sable 
cloud. The multitude, who had raised a clamorous shout of 
reprobation, paused and gazed in silence on the formidable and 
experienced body to which they had unwarily bade defiance, 
and shrunk back from their front. 

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their 
assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, and 
galloped backwards and forwards to array his followers, in op- 
position to a band so formidable. Richard alone, as if he loved 
the danger his presence had provoked, rode slowly along the 
front of the Templars, calling aloud, What, sirs ! Among so 
many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a spear with 
Richard ? — Sirs of the Temple ! your ladies are but sun-burned, 
if they are not worth the shiver of a broken lance ! ” 

“The Brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, rid- 
ing forward in advance of their body, “ fight not on such idle 
and profane quarrel — and not with thee, Richard of England, 
shall a Templar cross lance in my presence. The Pope and 
Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and whether a Chris- 
tian prince has done well in bucklering the cause which thou 
hast to-day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. 
To thine honor we refer the armor and household goods of 
the Order which we leave behind us, and on thy conscience 
we lay the scandal and offense thou hast this day given to 
Christendom.” 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand 
Master gave the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded 
a wild march, of an Oriental character, which formed the usual 
signal for the Templars to advance. They changed their array 
from a line to a column of march, and moved off as slowly as 
their horses could step, as if to show it was only the will of 
their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and superior 
force, which compelled them to withdraw. 

“ By the splendor of Our Lady’s brow ! ” said King Richard, 
“ it is pity of their lives that these Templars are not so trusty 
as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 

35 


462 


IVANHOE. 


object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble 
shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Tem- 
plars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing — she was locked in the 
5 arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, with the 
rapid change of circumstances around her. But one word 
from Isaac at length recalled her scattered feelings. 

“Let us go,” he said, “my dear daughter, my recovered 
treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good 
10 youth,” 

“Not so,” said Rebecca, “O no — no — no — I must not at 
this moment dare to speak to him. — Alas ! I should say more 
than — No, my father, let us instantly leave this evil place.” 

“But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “ to leave him who hath 
15 come forth like a strong man with his spear and shield, hold- 
ing his life as nothing, so he might redeem thy captivity ; and 
thou, too, the daughter of a people strange unto him and his — 
this is service to be thankfully acknowledged.” 

“ It is— it is — most thankfully — most devoutly acknowl- 
20 edged,” said Rebecca— “ it shall be still more so — but not now 
— for the sake of thy beloved Rachel, father, grant my request 
— not now ! ” 

“ Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “ they will deem us more 
thankless than mere dogs ! ” 

25 ‘‘ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in 

presence, and that — ” 

‘ ‘ True, my best — my wisest Rebecca ! — Let us hence — let 
us hence ! — Money he will lack, for he has just returned from 
Palestine, and, as they say, from prison — and pretext for exact- 
30 ing it, should he need any, may arise out of my simple traffic 
with his brother John. Away, away, let us hence ! ” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her 
from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he had pro- 
vided, transported her safely to the house of the Rabbi Nathan. 
35 The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal inter- 
est of the day, having now retired unobserved, the attention 
of the populace was transferred to the Black Knight. They 
now filled the air with ‘ ‘ Long life to Richard with the Lion’s 
Heart, and down with the usurping Templars ! ” 


IVANHOE. 


463 


“ Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to the 
Earl of Essex, “it was well the King took the precaution to 
bring theo with him, noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty 
followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 5 

“ Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “ dost thou know our Mas- 
ter so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution ! 

I was drawing towards York, having heard that Prince John 
was making head there, when I met King Richard, like a true 
knight-errant, galloping hither to achieve in his own person 10 
this adventure of the Templar and the Jewess, with his own 
single arm. I accompanied him with my band, almost mauger 
his consent.” 

“And what news from York, brave Earl ?” said Ivanhoe, 

“ will the rebels bide us there ? ” 15 

“No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” said 
the Earl ; ‘ ‘ they are dispersing ; and who should come posting 
to bring us the news, but John himself ! ” 

“ The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor ! ” said Ivanhoe; 

“ did not Richard order him into confinement? ” 20 

“ Oh! he received him,” answered the Earl, “ as if they had 
met after a hunting party ; and, pointing to me and our men- 
at-arms, said, ‘ Thou seest, brother, I have some angry men with 
me — thou wert best go to our mother, carry her my duteous af- 
fection, and abide with her until men’s minds are pacified.’ ”25 
“ And this was all he said? ” inquired Ivanhoe; “ would not 
any one say that this Prince invites men to treason by his 
clemency? ” 

“Just,” replied the Earl, “ as the man may be said to in- 
vite death, who undertakes to fight a combat, having a danger- 30 
ous wound unhealed.” 

“I forgive thee the jest. Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; “but, 
remember, I hazarded but my own life — Richard, the welfare 
of his kingdom.” 

“Those,” replied Essex, “ who are specially careless of their 35 
own welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others. 

— But let us haste to the castle, for Richard meditates punish- 
ing some of the subordinate members of the conspiracy, though 
he has pardoned their principal.” 


464 


IVANHOE. 


From the judicial investigations which followed on this occa- 
sion, and which are given at length in the Ward our Manu- 
script, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, 
and went into the service of Philip of France; while Philip de 
5Malvoisin, and his brother Albert, the Preceptor of Temple- 
stowe, were executed, although Waldemar Fitzurse, the soul of 
the conspiracy, escaped with banishment ; and Prince John, for 
whose behoof it was undertaken, was not even censured by his 
good-natured brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of the 
10 two Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they had 
both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and 
oppression. 

Briefly, after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was sum- 
moned to the court of Richard, which, for the purpose of quiet- 
15 ing the counties that had been disturbed by the ambition of his 
brother, was then held at York. Cedric tushed and pshawed 
more than once at the message — but he refused not obedience. 
In fact, the return of Richard had quenched every hope that he 
had entertained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in England ; for, 
20 whatever head the Saxons might have made in the event of a 
civil war, it was plain that nothing could be done under the 
undisputed dominion of Richard, popular as he was by his 
personal good qualities and military fame, although his admin- 
istration was willfully careless, now too indulgent, and now 
25 allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluctant 
observation, that his project for an absolute union among the 
Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and Athelstane, was now 
completely at an end, by the mutual dissent of both parties 
30 concerned. This was, indeed, an event which, in his ardor for 
the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated, and even when 
the disinclination of both was broadly and plainly manifested, 
he could scarce bring himself to believe that two Saxons of 
royal descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an alli- 
35 ance so necessary for the public weal of the nation. But it was 
not the less certain : Rowena had always expressed her repug- 
nance to Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less plain and 
positive in proclaiming his resolution never to pursue his 
addresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy of 


IVANHOE. 


465 


Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, remaining on 
the point of junction, had the task of dragging a reluctant pair 
up to it, one with each hand. He made, however, a last vig- 
orous attack on Athelstane, and he found that resuscitated 
sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like country squires of our 5 
own day, in a furious war with the clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the Abbot 
of Saint Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, what be- 
tween the natural indolent kindness of his own disposition, 
what through the prayers of his mother Edith, attached, like 10 
most ladies, (of the period,) to the clerical order, had termi- 
nated in his keeping the Abbot and his monks in the dungeons 
of Coningsburgh for three days on a meager diet. For this 
atrocity the Abbot menaced him with excommunication, and 
made out a dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and 15 
stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in consequence 
of the tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. 

With this controversy, and with the means he had adopted 
to counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric found the mind 
of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied that it had no room 20 
for another idea. And when Rowena’s name was mentioned, 
the noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her 
health, and that she might soon be the bride of his kinsman 
Wilfred. It was a desperate case therefore. There was ob- 
viously no more to be made of Athelstane; or, as Wamba ex- 25 
pressed it, in a phrase which had descended from Saxon times 
to ours, he was a cock that would not fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination which 
the lovers desired to come to, only two obstacles — his own 
obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. The former 30 
feeling gradually gave way before the endearments of his 
ward, and the pride which he could not help nourishing in the 
fame of his son. Besides, he was not insensible to the honor 
of allying his own line to that of Alfred, when the superior 
claims of the descendant of Edward the Confessor were aban- 35 
doned forever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race of kings 
was also much undermined, — first, by consideration of the im- 
possibility of ridding England of the new d^masty, a feeling 
which goes far to create loyalty in the subject to the king de 
30 


466 


lYANHOE. 


facto ; and, secondly, by the personal attention of King Rich- 
ard, who delighted in the blunt humor of Cedric, and, to use 
the language of the Wardoiir Manuscript, so dealt with the 
noble Saxon, that, ere he had been a guest at court for seven 
5 days, he had given his consent to the marriage of his ward 
Rowena and his son Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his 
father, were celebrated in the most august of temples, the 
noble Minster of York. The King himself attended, and from 
10 the countenance which he afforded on this and other occasions 
to the distressed and hitherto degraded Saxons, gave them a 
safer and more certain prospect of attaining their just rights, 
than they could reasonably hope from the precarious chance 
of a civil war. The Church gave her full solemnities, graced 
15 with all the splendor which she of Rome knows how to apply 
with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly appareled, attended as esquire upon his 
young master whom he had served so faithfully, and the mag- 
nanimous Wamba, decorated with a new cap and a most gor- 
20geous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wilfred’s dangers and 
adversity, they remained, as they had a right to expect, the 
partakers of his more prosperous career. 

But besides the domestic retinue, these distinguished nuptials 
were celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Normans, 
25 as well as Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of the 
lower orders, that marked the marriage of two individuals as 
a pledge of the future peace and harmony betwixt two races, 
which, since that period, have been so completely mingled, that 
the distinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to 
30 see this union approximate towards its completion; for as the 
two nations mixed in society and formed intermarriages with 
each other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons 
were refined from their rusticity. But it was not until the 
reign of Edward the Third that the mixed language, now 
35 termed English, was spoken at the court of London, and that 
the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon seems entirely to 
have disappeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that 
the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by her handmaid 


IVANHOE. 


467 


Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and 
solicited that their parley might be without witness. Eowena 
wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by command- 
ing the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to with- 
draw. 5 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the long white 
veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than 
concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her de- 
meanor was that of respect, unmingled by the least shade either 
of fear, or of a wish to propitiate favor. Rowena was ever 10 
ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feelings, 
of others. She arose, and would have conducted her lovely 
visitor to a seat; but the stranger looked atElgitha, and again 
intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. 
Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps, than, to 15 
the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on 
one knee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and bending her 
head to the ground, in spite of Rowena’s resistance, kissed the 
embroidered hem of her tunic. 

‘ ‘ What means this, lady? ” said the surprised bride ; “ or why 20 
do you offer to me a deference so unusual ? ” 

“ Because to you. Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Rebecca, rising up 
and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, “ I may 
lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I 
owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am — forgive the boldness which 25 
has offered to you the homage of my country — I am the un- 
happy Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his life against 
such fearful odds in the tilt-yard of Templestowe.” 

“ Damsel,” said Rowena, “Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day 
rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing charity 30 
towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there 
aught remains in which he or I can serve thee ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Rebecca, calmly, “ unless you will transmit 
to him my grateful farewell.” 

“ You leave England, then? ” said Rowena, scarce recovering 35 
the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

“ I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father 
hath a brother high in favor with Mohammed Boabdil, King 
of Grenada — thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for 


468 IVANHOE. 

the payment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our 
people.” 

“ And are you not then as well protected in England? ” said 
Eowena. “ My husband has favor with the King — the King 
5 himself is just and generous.” 

“ Lady,” said Kebecca, “ I doubt it not — but the people of 
England are a fierce race, quarreling ever with their neighbors 
or among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword into the 
bowels of each other. Such is no safe abode for the children of 
10 my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove — Issachar an over- 
labored drudge, which stoops between two burdens. Not in a 
land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile neighbors, and 
distracted by internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during 
her wanderings.” 

15 “ But you, maiden,” said Rowena — “you surely can have 

nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe,” she 
continued, rising with enthusiasm — “ she can have nothing to 
fear in England, where Saxon and Norman will contend who 
shall most do her honor.” 

20 “ Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “ and thy purpose 

fairer ; but it may not be — there is a gulf betwixt us. Our 
breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. Fare- 
well — yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The bridal-veil 
hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and let me see the fea- 
25 tures of which fame speaks so highly.” 

“ They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said 
Rowena; “ but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove 
the veil.” 

She took it off accordingly ; and, partly from the conscious- 
30 ness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so in- 
tensely, that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with 
crimson. Rebeeca blushed also, but it was a momentary feel- 
ing; and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from her 
features like the crimson cloud, which changes color when 
35 the sun sinks beneath the horizon. 

“ Lady,” she said, “the countenance you have deigned to 
show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in 
it gentleness and goodness ; and if a tinge of the world’s pride 
or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how should 


IVANHOE. 


469 


we chide that which is of earth for bearing some color of its 
original? Long, long will I remember your features, and bless 
God that I leave my noble deliverer united with — ” 

She stopped short — her eyes filled with tears. She hastily 
wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries of Rowena — 5 
“ I am well, lady— well. But my heart swells when I think 
of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe. — Farewell. One, 
the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. 
Accept this casket — startle not at its contents.” 

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived 10 
a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels of diamonds, which 
were obviously of immense value. 

“It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the casket* 

“ I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

“ Yet keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca. — “ You have power, 15 
rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the source both of 
our strength and weakness; the value of these toys, ten times 
multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest 
wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value, — and to 
me, what 1 part with is of much less. Let me not think you 20 
deem so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons believe. 
Think ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above 
my liberty ? or that my father values them in comparison to 
the honor of his only child ? Accept them, lady — to me they 
are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.” 25 

“You are then unhappy !” said Rowena, struck with the 
manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. “ O, remain 
with us — the counsel of holy men will wean you from your 
erring law, and I will be a sister to you.” 

“No, lady,” answered .Rebecca, the same calm melancholy 30 
reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features — “ that may 
not be. I may not change the faith of my fathers like a gar- 
ment unsuited to the climate in which I seek to dwell, and un- 
happy, lady, I will not be. He, to whom I dedicate my future 
life, will be my comforter, if I do His will.” 

“Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to 
retire ? ” asked Rowena. 

“ No, lady,” said the Jewess; “ but among our people, since 
the time of Abraham downwards, have been women who have 


470 


IVANHOE. 


devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their actions to works 
of kindness to men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and 
relieving the distressed. Among these will Rebecca be num- 
bered.* Say this to thy lord, should he chance to inquire after 
5 the fate of her whose life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremor on Rebecca’s voice, and a 
tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she 
would willingly have expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena 
adieu. 

10 “ Farewell,” she said. “ May He, who made both Jew and 

Christian, shower down on you His choicest blessings ! The 
bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach 
the port.” 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as 
15 if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the 
singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made a 
deep impression. He lived long and happily with Rowena, for 
they were attached to each other by the bonds of early affec- 
tion, and they loved each other the more, from the recollection 
20 of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it would 
be inquiring too curiously to ask, whether the recollection of 
Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mind 
more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred might 
altogether have approved. 

25 Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and 
was graced with farther marks of the royal favor. He might 
have risen still higher, but for the premature death of the heroic 
Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges. 
With the life of a generous, but rash and romantic monarch, 
30 perished all the projects which his ambition and his generosity 
had formed ; to whom may be applied, with a slight altera- 
tion, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and a “ humble ” hand ; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale, 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 


NOTES 


The heavy type refer to pages, the lighter type to lines. 

1. 2. The river Don: A river in Yorkshire, England. 

7. Dragon of Wantley : A fabulous monster, killed by being kicked 
in the mouth, its only vulnerable part. Percy’s “ Reliques of Ancient 
English Poetry ” contains a burlesque ^ballad celebrating this fray. 

9 . Wars of the Roses : The war waged in England from 1452 to 1486 
by the Houses of York and Lancaster for the royal power. The badge 
of Lancaster was a red rose, that of York a white one. 

14. His long captivity : In Austria. Soon after he succeeded to the 
throne. Richard went to Palestine on the Third Crusade, the object 
of which was to recapture Jerusalem from the Turks. On his return 
home he was shipwrecked and endeavored to make his way home in 
disguise. He was, however, recognized and was kept prisoner for a 
year by his bitter enemy, Leopold of Austria. 

19. Stephen : King of England, 1135-1154. 

Henry II: King of England, 1154-1189. 

2 . 1. Vassalage : The state of being vassals, men owing homage and 
service to a superior. William the Conqueror brought into England 
the feudal system, by which land was granted to the great barons in 
return for homage and military service. These barons granted estates 
to men of lower rank on the same terms. 

29. Duke William of Normandy : William the Conqueror, King of 
England 1066-1087. Claiming that the crown was his by the will of 
Edward the Confessor, he landed with an army in England, defeated 
and killed Harold, the English king, in the battle of Hastings, and made 
himself king. 

3 . 18. Hinds : Farm laborers. 

22. A dialect : This finally crystallized into the noble English speech, 
losing the inflections of both French and Saxon, and enriching its 
vocabulary by the words of both languages. 

38. Edward III: King of England, 1327-1377. 

39, A line of separation : According to Freeman and other historians, 

471 


172 


NOTES. 


this line, very distinct in the time of William Rufus, was almost ob* 
literated before the time of Edward III. Even in tlie reign of Richard 
1. there was no such wide spread and bitter hostility between Saxon 
and Norman in England, as Ivanhoe would lead us to believe. 

4. 7. The Roman soldiery : Masters, at least nominally, of Britain 
from the conquest by Caesar, B. C. 55, until the Roman forces were 
recalled in the early part of the fifth century. 

20. Druidical superstition : The religion of the ancient Britons. The 
Druid priests performed their rites in oak groves on altars of stone. 

34. Riding : A corruption of the word thriding, meaning a third 
part. West Riding was one of the three divisions of Yorkshire. 

5 . 8 . Hauberk: A coat of mail worn during the Middle Ages. It 
came below the knees and was made of interlaced steel rings. 

14. Scrip : Bag. 

32. Thrall: Slave. 

6 . 15. Bell .... hawks : A favorite sport during the Middle Ages 
was hawking, — hunting game, especially birds, by means of trained 
hawks. Small bells were put on these to distinguish them from wild 
birds. 

34. Harlequin : An actor in a pantomime. 

7 . 16. St. Withold: An imaginary saint, mentioned in King Lear, 
Act. III. Scene 4. 

28. Lurcher : A kind of hunting dog. 

32. Malice prepense : Mischief planned beforehand. 

36. Ranger of the forest : The~officer, who, under the Norman 'kings, 
enforced the forest laws about hunting. It was one of his duties every 
third year to cut the claws of herding dogs used in the forest, so as to 
disable them from hunting deer. 

8 . 39. Saxon .... takes a Norman name : Lockhart says: “This 
play upon the Norman and English names of the same objects was 
suggested to Scott by his friend William Clerk. 

9 . 3. St. Bunstan: A Saxon saint. Archbishop of Canterbury dur- 
ing the tenth century. 

37. King Oberon : The king of the fairies. See Midsummer Right's 
Dream. 

10 . 11. Quarter-staff: A stout staff, or pole, about six feet long, 
used as a weapon. 

12. Eumceus : The swineherd of Od 3 "sseus in the Odyssey. 

11. 1. Cistercian : One of an order of monks founded in the eleventh 
century, at Citeaux, France. 

3. Flanders cloth : The Flemisli were famous for their skill in the 
manufacture of wool, producing cloth much handsomer than that of 
English weavers. 


NOTES. 


473 


9. Epicurean : Pleasure-loving, sensual. Epicurus, a Greek philos- 
opher of the third century before Christ, taught that the liighest good 
consists in securing the highest pleasure ; but later times distorted his 
doctrine into sanction of gross and sbnsual pleasures. 

31. Lay brother : A monk under vows but not in holy orders. 

83. Jennets : Small Spanisli horses. 

12 . 1 . Sumpter mule : One used for carrying baggage. 

85. Four regular orders of monks : The two great monastic orders, — 
that is, the monks who adhered to convent life, — were the Benedictines 
who followed the rule of St. Benedict, and the Augustinians, the monks 
of St. Augustine. The two great orders of mendicant monks, — that is, 
those who thought it their duty to go out in the world as missionaries 
and teachers, — were the Dominicans and Franciscans. Besides these 
four regular orders, there were other orders — Cistercian, Carmelite, 
and others — organized by reformers among the Benedictines. There 
were also three military orders of monks, half monks, half soldiers, 
the Teutonic Knights, the Knights Templars, and the Knights 
Hospitallers. 

39. Mail : Armor made of steel rings linked together. 

13 . 17. Damascene : Of Damascus, a city famous for its finely-tem- 
pered steel. 

39. Baldric : A band worn across the shoulders, to support a horn, 
dagger, or sword. 

14. 6 . ElJerrid: A sham battle. 

13. Plate: Armor made of overlapping pieces, or plates, of steel, 
instead of steel rings like mail armor. 

19. Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey : A prior is the head of a priory; the 
head of an abbey is properly termed an abbot. Scott does not 
distinguish between the two terms. Jorvaulx or Jervaulx, was a 
Cistercian Abbey in the North Biding of Yorkshire. 

15 . 15. Largesses : Gifts, usually of money. 

19. Postern : Small rear door. 

27. Benedicitey mes filz : Bless you, my sons. 

16 . 12. Seneschals : Stewards, servants in charge of feasts. 

23. Anchoret : A hermit, a religious man who retired from the world 
to a cave or hut and spent his time in fasting and prayer. 

28. Clericus clericuni non decimat : Priest does not take tithes of, or 
tax, a priest. 

17 . 2. Franklin: A Saxon landowner of some importance. 

17. Demi-wlte : A half-leap to the side. 

18 . 1. Holy Sepulcher : The sepulcher of Christ ; to rescue this from 
the heathen Saracens was the object of the Crusades of the Middle 
Ages. 


474 


NOTES. 


39. Marry : In the name of the Virgin Mary, indeed ; a sort of oath 
used as an exclamation to denote vexation or surprise. 

19 . 10. Odin: Odin, or Woden, was the supreme god of the Scan 
dinavians. 

27. Hereward: A brave Saxon noble, the last to yield to William 
the Conqueror. 

28. Heptarchy: The seven Saxon Kingdoms in England, — Kent, 
Essex, Wessex, Sussex, Mercia, East Anglia, and Northumbria. At 
lirst independent, they were dominated in the ninth century by Wessex. 

31. Vae metis: Woe to the conquered. 

35. Arrets : Decrees. 

20 . 9. Houris : Nymphs of the Mohammedan paradise. 

Mahound : An old form of the name Mahomet. 

22. Gorget : Armor for the neck. 

Ashby -de-la- Zouche : A town about seventeen miles from 
Leicester. 

34. An : if. 

22 . 16. Palmer: A pilgrim so called because he bore a branch of 
palm as sign that he had been to Palestine, the Holy Land, to visit the 
tomb of Christ. 

22 . The holy city : Jerusalem. 

23 . 16. A holly etc. : Scott gives here a detailed and, in the main, 
an accurate description of an old English dwelling. Carpets were 
almost unknown at this period, the floors of the nobility even being 
strewn with straw or rushes. 

24 . 35. Saxon title of honor : Lord and lady. 

25 . 1 . Thane : A Saxon title of honor, a nobleman. 

26 . 11. SlowhouTids : Slothounds, bloodhounds, so-called because 
they followed the slot or scent. 

24. Balder : Cedric’s dog bore the name of the Scandinavian god of 
light. 

27 . 20. Kirtle : Here, gown or mantle. The name was applied to 
various forms of outer garments, worn by men or women. 

25. Kirk: Church. 

32. Warders : A Norman name for gatekeepers or guards. Scott, in 
his assumed character of editor of an old manuscript, thus explains the 
use of the term. “ The original has CnichtSy by which the Saxons seem 
to have designated a class of military attendants, sometimes free, some- 
times bondsmen, but always ranking above an ordinary domestic, 
whether in the royal household or in those of the aldermen and tlianes. 
But the term, cnichty now spelt knight, having been received into the 
English language as equivalent to the Norman word chevalier, I have 
avoided using it in its more ancient sense, to prevent confusion.” 


NOTES. 


475 


34. Curfew : William the Norman introduced into England the cur- 
few, the Norman law for protection against fire. At nightfall a bell 
was rung, as a signal for fires to be covered and lights extinguished. 

37. The tyrannical bastard : William the Conqueror, son of Robert, 
Duke of Normandy, and Arlotta, a tanner’s daughter. 

29 . 3, Ween: Think. 

Hership : Robbery, carrying off cattle. 

10. Tournament : A contest of skill among armed knights. 

20. Major-domo : The Norman title of the steward, or head servant 

32. Churl: Among the Saxons, a freeman of the lowest rank, just 
above a thrall or slave ; the term came gradually to be applied to a 
rude, ill-mannered person. 

30 . 3. Bell and book : Church bell and prayer book ; devotions. 

18. The best mead, etc. Scott says : “These were drinks used by the 
Saxons, as we are informed by Mr. Turner. Morat was made of honey 
flavored with the juice of mulberries. Pigment was a sweet and rich 
liquor, composed of wine highly spiced, and sweetened also with 
honey.” Mead was made from honey and malt. 

20. Horns : The Saxon drinking-cups were usually made of horn. 

32. Alfred : King of the English, 872-901 ; the greatest of the Saxons 
monarchs. 

31 . 12 . Cope: A kind of cloak worn by priests. 

33 . 11. St. Hilda : A Saxon saint of the seventh century, who 
founded the abbey of Whitby. 

29. Villain : Originally, peasants, slaves, in which sense it is gener- 
ally used in Ivanhoe ; later, it came to mean a wicked, depraved 
person. 

34 . 3. Uncle: A title used by the jester or “fool,” in addressing his 
master. 

14, Vesper-bell : The bell for evening church service. 

18. On the bow hand : On the left, or wrong side. 

30. Disforested in terms of the Great Forest Charter : Thrown open to 
the public by the great charter forced from King John. This charter, 
however, was not granted until 1215, and the scene of Ivalihoe is laid 
in 1194. 

32. Knace : Originally, boy ; later, rogue. 

36 . 16. Reliquary : A casket, or case, containing a holy relic. 

37 . 24. Lac ditlce, lac acidum : Sweet milk, sour milk. 

28. Wassail: Health, toast. 

29. Her namesake : According to tradition, Rowena was the beauti- 
ful daughter of the Saxon chief, Hengist ; for love of her the British 
King, Yortigern, granted land to her father, thus giving the invader a 
foothold in Britain. 


476 


NOTES. 


38 . 2 . Saladin : A famous sultan of Egypt, who took Jerusalem in 
1187, and held it against the Crusaders. A three-years truce was con- 
cluded in 1192 between him and the leaders of the Third Crusade* 
Before its close, Saladin died, March 4, 1193. Repeated mention is 
made of him in ImnJioe, as if he were yet alive. 

39 . 7. York: The chief town of Yorkshire. 

28. Moslems : Followers of Mohammed, or Mahound. 

40 . 1 . Termagaunt : A fabled deity, whom the Crusaders supposed 
the Mohammedans to worship. 

5. Gammon: Ham. 

41 . 24. Seethed: Boiled. 

42 . 9. Surely no tongue, etc: ‘‘There was no language which the 
Normans more formally separated from that of common life than the 
terms of the chase. The objects of their pursuit, whether bird or ani- 
mal, changed their names each year, and tliere were a hundred conven- 
tional terms, to be ignorant of which was to be without one of the dis- 
tinguishing marks of a gentleman. . . . The origin of this science was 
imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristam, famous for his tragic intrigue 
with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans reserved the amusement 
of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms of this formal jargon were 
all taken from the French language. ' — Scott. 

16. Becheate : Notes on the hunting-horn to bring back or call off the 
dogs. 

16. Morte : Sounding of the horn at the death of the game. 

19. Cur^ : The portion of the deer given to the hounds. 

19. Arbor : The heart, liver, and lungs of the deer. 

19. Nomhles : The entrails of the deer. 

29. Troubadours : Originally, poets of the south of France ; later, 
any wandering minstrels. 

31. Northallerton : A village in Yorkshire where the English barons, 
led by Archbishop Thurstan, defeated the Scotch in 1138, in a fight 
called the battle of the Holy Standard. 

33. Gride guerre: War cry. 

39. Bard: Poet. 

43 . 2. Bill : A weapon, resembling a pike, consisting of a blade fixed 
on a staff. 

39. St. John de Acre : Acre, a seaport town of Palestine, called St. 
John de Acre, because it was occupied by the Knights of St. John of 
Jerusalem. It was taken in 1191 by the Crusaders under Richard I. 

44 . 20. Blithely: Gladly. 

21. Guerdon : 

45 * 60, Mount Qarmel: A monastery on Mount Carmel in Pales 
tine. 


NOTES. 


477 


32. Pater noster: The Lord’s prayer, so-called from the first two 
words,— pafer noster, our father, — of the Latin version. 

46 . 29. Genujlectiom : Bending of tlie knees. 

38. Rood: Cross. 

47 . 1. Bonny : Merry ; usually, pretty. 

1 . Matin chime : Bell for morning prayers. 

20. Orace cup : A cup of wine passed from guest to guest at the 
close of a meal, after grace was said. 

31. Shekel : A Jewish silver coin, of value estimated from sixty 
•cents to nine dollars. 

32. Ilaljling : Half-penny. 

35. Exchequer of the Jews : “ In those days the Jews were subjected 
to an Exchequer specially dedicated to that purpose, and which laid 
them under the most exorbitant impositions.” — Scott. 

37. Gabardine : A loose, coarse cloak worn by the Jews. They were 
required to wear a garment and cap of peculiar cut as badges of their 
despised race. 

39. Beshrew : A word used to wish a curse upon one. 

49 . 2. Solere chamber : An upper chamber, exposed to the sun. 

8 . Our Lady's benison : The blessing of the Virgin Mary. 

51 . 17. Cyprus: This Island was captured by Richard I. on his 
journey to Palestine in 1191. 

52 . 30. Matins : Morning prayers. 

53 . 29. Mussulman: Mohammedan. 

54 - 12. Rabbah : A town of Ammon conquered by the Jews. 

16. Cause for yoiir terror: Consult histories of England as to the 
cruelties and extortions practiced upon the Jews during the twelfth 
century. 

38. The Misery of Lazarm: Would the Jew be apt to make this 
allusion ? 

55 . 31. Rhaca : The island home of Odysseus, the master of 
Eumaeus. 

56 . 12 . Anon : Literally, at once ; it came to mean, as here, soon, 
not at once. 

28. Vigils : Watchings, especially those kept on the eve of festivals 
for the purpose of devotion. 

33. Trow : Think. » 

57 . 14. En croupe : Behind the saddle. 

25. Certes : Certainly. 

59 . 18. Wheels of their chaHots, etc, : See Exodus xiv. 23-25. 

60 . 21 . Gyms: Fetters. 

61 . 21. Yellow cap: This, like the gabardine, the Jew was com 
pelled by law to wear, as a badge of his race. 


478 


NOTES. 


26. Milan harnesses: Suits of armor for man and horse made in 
Milan, Italy. This city was famous for the excellence of its armor. 

62 . 2. The rod of Moses : See Exodus xiv. 16-22. 

19. Gramercy : Many thanks. 

64 . 14. Real: A Spanish coin worth about five cents. 

20. Lists : Space inclosed for the tournament. 

39. Heralds: Officers who conducted ceremonies and made proclama- 
tions, as here, of the rules of the tournaments, the contestants, etc. 

39. Pursuivants : Attendants of heralds. 

65 . 10. Savage or sylvan inan : “ This sort of masquerade is supposed 
to have occasioned the introduction of supporters into the science of 
heraldy. ’’—Scott. 

30. Esplanade : Level space. 

66 . 5. Yeomanry : Freemen, small landed proprietors. 

21. Yeomen : Usually, freemen, the lowest class of landowners ; 
sometimes, as here, members of a royal body-guard. 

33. La Boyne de la Beaulte et des Amours . The queen of beauty and 
of love. 

67 . 15. Burghers : Townsmen. 

68 . 13. Lincoln green: Cloth dyed at Lincoln, hence its name. It 
was so much worn by woodsmen and hunters that it came to be regarded 
almost as the badge of sylvan peasants. 

34. Out heroding : Excelling, going beyond, usually in something 
absurd or wrong. Consult a dictionary for the derivation of the word. 

69 . 4. Mercenary troops : Soldiers who served for hire, without any 
feudal obligation. They were also called Free Companions and Free 
Lances. 

34. Caracoled: Wheeled, pranced. 

70 . 14. Maroquin : Morrocco. 

35. Simarre : A loose robe. 

71 . 7. Agraffe: A clasp. 

16. Canticles : The Songs of Solomon, called Canticum Canticorum in 
the Latin version of the Scriptures. 

21. Mammon: The Syrian god of riches ; hence, often riches, the 
spirit of avarice. 

22. Marks : English coins worth about three dollars. 

22. ByzanU : Gold coins of Byzantium worth from three to five 
dollars. Prince John describes the Jew as lordly in wealth. 

30. Congie : Bow. 

72 . 6. Athelstane : This Saxon lord and his descent are creations of 
fiction. 

15. Soubriquet : Nickname. 

32. Via inertioe : Force of inertia or inaction. 


NOTES. 


479 


73 , 28. The white : The white spot in the center of a target. 

31. Wat Tyrrell : Sir Walter Tyrrell, who was thought to have 
killed William Rufus while hunting in the New Forest. 

33. His grandfather : William Rufus was John’s great-grand uncle. 

88 . 8t. Grizzel : A heroine famous for her patience, never admitted 

to sainthood by the Church. 

74 . 23. Brawn: Pork. 

75 . 24. Halid^m : Holiness, sacred honor. 

76 . 22. Gage: Wager, bet. 

34. Rosary : A string of beads used by the Roman Catholics in 
prayer. 

77 * 21. Outrance : Combat with sharp weapons. 

78 . 83. Cap-a-pie : From head to foot. 

79 . 7. The War dour Manuscript : Scott’s pretended authority for 
the story of Ivanhoe. 

11. A contemporary poet : Coleridge. 

15. Escutcheons: Shield-shaped surfaces upon which coat-of-arms 
are inscribed. 

81. 16. Attaint : This term of chivalry, transferred to the law, gives 
the phrase of being attainted, of treason.” — Scott. 

83. 3. Tilt : Ride and thrust with a lance. 

83 . 8 . Desdicliado : This Spanish word means unfortunate, not dis- 
inherited. 

23. Redoubted: Formidable, brave. 

84 . 21. Gare le Coi'heau : Beware of the Raven. 

37. Visors : The movable fronts of helmets. ' 

86 . 23. Care, adsum : Beware I I am here. 

88 . 15. Wot: Know. 

89 . 5. Pitch: Height. 

11. Forbode: Forbid. 

92 . 23. Muscadine : A sweet wine. 

32. Zecchins : A gold coin of Venice, worth about two dollars and a 
quarter. 

93* 8 . Og : See Deut. iii. 11. 

9. Sihon : See Num. xxi., 21-31. 

95 . 8 . Needwood and Charnwood: Forests near Ashby. Sherwood 
was a forest farther north. 

96 . 3. Outrecuidance : Insolence. 

97 . 23. Incognito : Disguise. 

29. Barbed : Clad in armor. 

98 . 39. Moiety: Half. 

100 . 29. Varlet : A page or other attendant of a knight ; often, a 
low, mean fellow, a rascal. 


480 


NOTES. 


101. 11 . Estrada: Raised part of floor, a platform. 

102 . 6 . Zion: Mount Zion was often spoken of as representing the 
city of Jerusalem, and hence the people of that city, the whole nation 
of Jews; sometimes, the heavenly city, heaven itself. 

24. Battlements : The indented walls of castles, forts, etc. 

104 . 18. Crossbow holts: Arrows for the crossbow ; the heads of 
these arrows were steel. 

105 . 1 . Talents : The talent was a Hebrew weight of money measure. 

38. Tale: Number. 

106 . 8 . Goliath, etc. : See 1 Samuel xvii. 4-7. 

107 . 18. Guild: A society of free men of the same trade, united for 
aid and protection. 

19. Buckler : A small shield. 

108 . 13. Arrant: Notorious, downright. 

14. Errant: Wandering. 

16. Merk: Mark, an English coin. 

19. St. Nicholas's Clerks: Robbers. St. Nicholas was the patron 
saint of sailors, thieves, and children. 

112 . 14. Scatheless: Unharmed. 

15. Scathe : Harm, hurt. 

20. Troth: Truth, faith. 

24. Keep: Guard. 

26. Lay on load by : Use the staves. 

33. Faire le Moulinet : Imitate the windmill ; that is* to twirl the 
staff with a circular motion around the head. 

114 . 20. Rendezvous: Appointed place of meeting. 

34. Tower of London: A famous stronghold, the central tower of 
which was a fort built by William the Conqueror. 

1 18 . 22. Mace: A heavy war club. 

119 . 31. Laissez alter : Literally, let go; off. 

120 . 22. Beau seant : “Beau seant was the name of the Templar’s 
banner, which was half black, half white to intimate, it is said, that they 
were candid and fair towards Christians, but black and terrible to- 
wards infldels.” — Scott. 

123 . 13. Warder : Staff of office. 

16. Springal : Youth ; active boy. 

33. Bested : Situated ; placed in peril. 

124 . 2 . Chamfron : Frontlet, or head armor, of a horse. 

127 . 23. Minion : A favorite of a king or person of rank; the word 
came later to be applied, in contempt, to a dependent. 

25. Fief : Estate, land granted in return for military service. 

128 . 8 . Usual military service : It was in return for and on condi- 


NOTES. 


481 


tion of, such service that lands and titles were granted under the 
feudal system. 

20. Communis mater : Common mother. 

129 . 24. Vassal: One holding estates from a superior, by feudal 
terms. 

33. Beckct : Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, a famous 
English saint and martyr of the twelfth century. 

130 . 8 . Fleurs-de-lis: Lilies, — the royal insignia of France, adopted 
as her seal by Louis VII., in 1137. 

11. Take heed, etc. : It is said that Philip King of France thus an-^ 
nounced to Jolm that Richard had been released from captivity. 

20. Frances : The King of France’s. 

24. Mummery : Originally, a pantomime ; hence, as here, an idle show. 

131 . 8 . St. Hubert: A French bishop of, the eighth century, the 
patron saint of hunters. 

18. Newmarket : A town in England famous for its races. 

29. Long -how : This was the earl^ national weapon of the English. 
It was about six feet in length, and was drawn by hand, whereas the 
crossbow, or arblast, was bent by machinery. 

132 . 9. Nobles: Gold coins worth about a dollar and a half. They 
were not in use till the fourteenth century, being first coined by 
Edward III., in 1344. 

35. A shot at rovers : A random shot. 

133 . 15. Sith : Since. 

23. Hastings : The famous battle in which the Norman invaders 
defeated the Saxons, in 1066. 

134 . 6 . Runagate: A corrupt form of the word renegade, vagabond. 

20. In the clout : In the center of the target. 

34. The North Country : The north of England. 

135 . 12. King Arthur's Bound Table: King Arthur was a King of 
Britain, supposed to have lived in the sixth century. Around him 
cluster the legends told in Sir Thomas ^Mallory’s Morte d" Arthur, 
which Tennyson made the subject of Idylls of the King. Around 
Arthur’s famous Round Table, made by the wizard Merlin, assembled 
his sixty knights. 

23. Jerkin : A close-fitting jacket or coat. 

139 . 4. Charlemagne: The famous French emperor of the West 
—768-814. 

13. House of Anjou : A family of counts and dukes of Anjou, in 
France. In 1154 Anjou, Normandy, and England were united under 
the rule of Henry II. ; the founder of the English royal house of 
Anjou or Plantagenet, as it is sometimes called,. 

25. Simnel bread, ; Bread made^of fine flour. 


482 


NOTES. 


26. Wastel cakes : Cakes made of fine flour. 

140 . 15. Pasty : Meat-pie. 

21. Beecajicoes : Small singing birds, prized as delicacies. 

142 . 3. St. Anthmiy : An Egyptian abbot of the third century. 

38 Nidering: A base, cowardly fellow. A nobody, a Saxon term 
of contempt. There was nothing accounted so ignominious among 
the Saxons as to merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William the 
Conqueror, hated as he was by them, continued to draw a considerable 
army of Anglo-Saxons to his standard by threatening to stigmatize 
those who stayed at home as nidering. Bartholinus, I think, mentions 
a similar phrase which had a like influence on the Danes.” — Scott. 

145 . 10. St Thomas: The martyr saint, Thomas a Becket, also called 
St. Thomas of Canterbury, and St. Thomas of Kent. 

146 . 16. Cabal: Party, faction. 

147 . 27. Primogeniture: The right of the eldest son to inherit his 
father’s estate and title. 

148 . 18. Kirtle : A skirt or gown. The name w^as usually applied 
to a garment worn by 'vvomen and sometimes to a garment, probably a 
sort of kilt, worn by men. 

31. The rery name, etc.: So terrible was the name and fame of 
Richard to his enemies that for years after he left Palestine, Saracen 
mothers would quiet their children with threats that if they cried 
Richard would come and get them. 

149 . 21 . Long since in Palestine, etc. : Note De Bracy’s reckless con- 
fusion of Jewish and Catholic customs and history. 

35. Purvey: Provide. 

15 1 . 10. Chapter : Council or assembly of monks. 

152 . 12. Hostelry: Inn. 

28. Knights errant : Knights wandering about in search of adven- 
tures. 

153 . 87. The tinkle of a small bell, etc. : In this account of the visit of 
the Black Knight to the Friar, Scott follows an old ballad, Tice King 
and the Hermit, describing a legendary adventure of King Richard’s. 

155 . 29. One pater, two aves, and a credo : Tlie Pater ox pater noster is| 
the Lord’s Prayer, the Are, is a prayer in honor of the Virgin Mary, 
and the Credo, is the Apostle’s Creed. The prayers and the creed are 
designated by the first words of the Latin version. 

156 . 5. l^old beads : Said a prayer, numbering, or telling, it off, on a 
rosary. 

8 . Doubt : Suspect. 

157 . 8 Missal : The mass book of the Roman Catholic Church con 
taining its prayers and services. 

158 . 22. Corselet : Armor for the body, 


NOTES. 


483 


83. Pinfold : A place to confine stray cattle. 

23. To win the ram, etc : The ram was the usual prize in a wrestling 
match. A ring, money, or other reward was given the victor in a con- 
test with the quarter-staff. “ To bear the buckler '' was to win at 
sword play or fencing. 

159 . 1. Pulse and water, etc: Pulse, beans. — See Daniel i. 3-16. 

81. Clerk : Priest. 

16 1 , 29. Canary: A kind of wine. 

32. Anchm'ite : The same as anchoret, a religious recluse of strict 
and simple life. 

38. TJrus : A species of wild bull, the mountain bull. 

162 , 3. Waes hael : Be in healtli ; the Saxon wassail or toast offered 
in drinking. 

5. Drink Jiael : Drink health ; the Saxon answer to a toast. 

21. An my gown saved me not: Under old English law, the clergy 
were free from criminal proceeding, and were judged by the spiritual, 
not the civil courts. 

26. Dun : Brown. 

163 . 11. Scissors of Delilah : See Judges xvi. 18-20. 

12. NailofJael: See Judges iv. 18-22. 

12. Scimeter of Goliath : See 1 Samuel xvii. 45. 

21. Bolts : Arrows for the crossbow. 

31. The hermit: “All readers, however slightly acquainted with 
black letter, must recognize in the Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar Tuck, 
the buxom confessor of Robin Hood’s gang, the Curtal Friar of 
Fountain’s Abbey.” — Scott. 

37. Lay : Song. 

37. Nook : Piece. 

164 . 13. Allan-c'j-Dale : A Scotch minstrel, a famous member of the 
band of Robin Hood, the merry English outlaw. 

21. A sirvente, etc, : “The realm of France, it is well known, was 
divided betwixt the Norman and Teutonic race, w^o spoke the lan- 
guage in which the word “ yes ” is pronounced as oui, and the inhabit- 
ants of the southern regions, whose speech, bearing some afiinity to 
the Italian, pronounced the same word oc. The poets of the former 
race were called minstrels and their poems lays : those of the latter 
were termed troubadours and their compositions called sirventes and 
other names. Richard, a professed admirer of joyous science in all 
its branches, could imitate either the minstrel or the troubadour. It 
is less likely that he should have been able to compose or sing an Eng- 
lish ballad ; yet so much do we wish to assimilate him of the Lion 
Heart to the band of warriors whom he led, that the anachronism, if 
there be one, may readily be forgiven.” — Scott. 


484 


NOTES 


165 . 5. Gleeman: A Saxon minstrel. 

166 . 4. Askalon: A city about 40 miles from Jerusalem, taken by 
the Crusaders in 1153 and recaptured by Saladin in 1187. 

9. Ic<ynium : The ancient name of Konieh, a district of Turkey in Asia. 

9. Soldan: Sultan. 

12. Pnynim: Pagan. 

167 . 12. Derry -down chorus: ‘‘It may be proper to remind the 
reader that the chorus of Derry-down is supposed to be as ancient, not 
only as the times of the Heptarchy, but as those of the Druids, and to 
have furnished the chorus to the hymns of those venerable persons 
when they went to the wood to gather mistletoe.’* Scott. 

14. Barefooted Friar : Friars, or mendicant monks, were not known 
in England till 1274. 

29. Lists: Pleases. 

31. Wight : Person. 

16. Primes: Early morning prayers. 

168 . 19. Exceptis excipiendis : Exceptions being made. 

26. The tongs of St. Dunstan: According to the legend, the devil 
entered St. Dunstan’s cell and was vanquished by the holy man, with a 
pair of redhot tongs. 

28. St. Dunstan, etc. : These are Saxon, Welsh, and German saints, 
of most of whom account is given elsewhere. 

169 . 3. AHosto : An Italian poet of the sixteenth century, author of 
Orlando Farioso, of which the critics complain that it lacks unity. 

26. Translated : Transformed, changed in form. 

170 . 22. Leech : Cure. 

24. Glaive : A broadsword, a spear. 

24. Brown-hill: A bill, a pike or spear. 

1 71 . 2 . Weal: Welfare. 

24. Rere supper: “ A rere supper was a night meal, and sometimes 
signified a collation which was given at a late hour, after the regular 
supper had made its appearance. ” — Scott. 

31. Refection: Repast. 

172 . 27. Javelin: A light spear. 

173 . 24. St. Edward the Confessor : The last Saxon King of the roya. 
family (1042-1066). lie was called the Confessor and was made saint 
on account of his piety. 

176 . 21. Hotspur: Henry Percy, an English nobleman called Hot- 
spur on account of his reckless bravery. See Shakespeare’s Henry IV., 
Part I. 

178 , 23. Sons of Ishmael : Outlaws. See Genesis xxi. 9-21. 

1 79 . 1 . Tables of our law : The ten commandments, written on tables, 
or tablets, of stone. 


NOTES. 


485 


27. Mount Sinai : The mountain on which the law was delivered to 
Moses. 

181, 18. St. George: A saint famous in legend for slaying a fearful 
dragon ; he was especially popular with Englishmen, and later was 
accepted as the national saint of England. 

182 . 39. Cassocks : Loose coats or cloaks ; usually priestly garments. 

1 86 . 5. Watliny Street: An old Roman road or highway, leading 
from Dover to North Wales. 

33. Cockscomb : A fool’s cap. 

34. Black sanctus: Usually, a profane song ; sometimes, as here, a 
virinking song. 

39. Burden : Chorus. 

187 . 1 . Trowl: Pass. 

33. Cold : A monk’s hood. 

39. Be profundis claraam : Out of the depths, I have cried ; the first 
words of the Latin version of Psalm cxxx. 

188 . 9. Wend: Wind, 90. 

39. Militant : Engaged in war. 

1 8 9. 17. Wroth: Angry. 

28. Sack : A kind of wine. 

31. Transmew : Transmute, change. 

38. Motley doublet : The parti-colored coat of the jester. 

1 91 . 3. Golden Spurs : The badge of a knight. 

23. Partisan : A weapon, consisting of a combined spear and ax. 

192 . 13. Shaveliny : A monk, so-called from his shaven head. 

194 . 30. Gainsay: Speak against, deny. 

195 . 16. Peccadilloes: Slight faults. 

197 . 1 . Refectories : Dining rooms of monasteries. 

2. Chapter houses : Houses in which assembled the chapters, or 
councils, of monks. 

38. Harold, etc. : England was attacked almost simultaneously In 
1066 by the Normans under Duke William and the Danes led by 
Harold Hardrada and by Tosti, the rebel brother of Harold of Eng- 
land. Harold defeated the Danes at Stamford Bridge ; then march- 
ing against the Normans, he was defeated and killed in the battle of 
Hastings. It is an anachronism to represent Cedric’s father as tak- 
ing part in this battle, which was fought a hundred and thirty years 
before the events narrated in Ivanhoe. 

199 . 3. The vei'y gale, etc. : The Normans landed in Sussex three 
days after the battle of Stamford Bridge. 

33 . Hengist : Hengist and Horsa were two chiefs who led the Teu- 
tonic tribes which settled England in the fifth century. 


486 


NOTES. 


aoo. 10. Hardicanute : A brutal and dissipated English King of 
the Danish line (1040-1042). 

23. Sewer: Steward. 

203 . 23. Rembrandt: A famous Dutch painter of the seventeenth 
century, called the King of Shadows, from his masterly portrayal 
of light and shade. 

39. Doublet : A close-fitting garment, made of doubled or wadded 
cloth or leather, as protection against offensive weapons. 

205 . 8 . The just measure and weight, etc. : To guard against false 
measures and light weights which were frequently used by unscru- 
pulous dealers, just and lawful measures and weights were kept in 
the Tower of London and by these the current ones were tested and 
corrected. 

209 . 1 . Talmud : The civil and canonical law of the Jewish 
people, not including that comprised in the Pentateuch or books 
of Moses. 

4. Passover : A Jewish feast held yearly in commemoration of 
the Lord’s passing over the Jews when he smote the firstborn of 
Egypt. See Exodus xii. 

212 . 22. St. Michael: The archangel that warred against Satan. 
See Revelation xii. 7-9. 

34. Fondly : Foolishly, ignorantly. 

213 . 28. Crowder: A fiddler, so-called from the Saxon instru- 
ment, the Growth, a kind of fiddle or violin. 

34. Meeter : More appropriate. 

214 . 6 . Wont: Accustomed. 

38. Doughty : Brave. 

216 . 2. Leech: Physician. 

217 . 36. The industrious Henry: Robert Henry, the author of a 
History of Great Britain, from which Scott quotes the passage con- 
cerning the barons’ excesses. 

218 . 1. The Saxon Chronicle: The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a his- 
tory of England during early and middle ages, commenced by the 
suggestion or command of King Alfred. 

219 . 12. Sibyl: Originally, a prophetess; sometimes, as here, a 
witch-like woman. 

28. Hests : Behests, commands. 

220 . 2. Zernebock: A heathen god, Sclavonic or Scandinavian. 

13. Unguent: Usually, an oil ; here ink. 

221 . 38. Damocles: A Syracusan courtier who was placed at a 
banquet, with a bare sword suspended over his head by a single 
hair, to teach him the insecurity of happiness. 


NOTES. 


487 


322. 29. Bartisan : A small overhanging turret, which served as 
a place of outlook or defense. 

30. Parapet : A wall, about breast-high, around a roof. 

30. Embrasures: Openings through which to shoot. 

224 . 3. Baca: See Psalm Ixxxiv. 6 . 

4. Alchemist : One who sought by science to change meaner 
metals into gold. 

6 . Alembic : A vessel used by chemists for distilling. 

19. Witch of Endor : See 1 Samuel xxviii. 7-20. 

28. Despardieux : An oath in the name of God. 

30. Most Christian King : From early times, an appellation of the 
King of France. 

32. Paramours: Unlawfully, with illicit love. 

225 . 6 . Sirach : Sirach was said to be the author of Ecclesiasticus, 
one of the wisdom books of the Apocrypha. 

7. Ecclesiastica : The feminine of Ecclesiasticus, 

11. Pt'eceptory : A religious house of the Knights Templars. 

227 . 6 . Crest : Tlie device above a coat-of-arms. 

12 . Arms be reversed : This was done to the arms of the knight 
who, for unpardonable offenses, was degraded from the ranks of 
knighthood. 

229 . 23. Batoon : Staff used as a badge of office. 

231 . 18. Niobe: In Greek mythology, a mother who grieved so 
over the death of her twelve children, who were slain by Apollo 
and Artemis, that Zeus turned her to stone. 

“ I wish the prior had also informed them when Niobe was 
sainted. Probably during that enlightened period when 
‘ Pan to Moses lent his pagan horn.’ ” — ScOTT. 

23. Apollyon : The name given in Revelation to the angel of the 
bottomless pit. 

232 . 22. Our Lady of Bethlehem : Tlie Virgin Mary. 

23. Cartel : Challenge, letter of defiance. 

233 . 7. Cnichts : Attendants. 

27. Try sting : Place of meeting. 

237 . 18. Crook: A bishop’s staff of office. 

238 . 4. Mammocks: Fragments. 

20. Nonce : Present, time being. 

239 . 10. Pax vobiscum : Peace be with you. 

19. Order of St, Francis : The Order of Franciscans, named from 
St. Francis of Assisi. This order, however, was not founded until 
1210. 

30. Gray goose shaft : An arrow, for a long-bow, winged with a 
goose feather. 


488 


NOTES. 


241. 22. St, Dennis: The patron saint of France, martyred in the 
third century. 

242. 4. Holy gear: Religious matters. 

14. Orders : Holy orders, admission into the ministry. 

21. The chain hung, etc, : A gold chain was an alderman’s badge 
of office. 

243. 17. Basta: Enough. 

19. Stool-ball : A ball used in stool-ball, a game resembling cricket. 

244. 12. Ban: Curse. 

245. 2. Etvobis — quaeso, domine reverendissime,pro misericoi'dia 
vestra: And (peace) with you. I beg, most holy father, for your 
mercy. 

22. Ifrin: Hell. 

23. Odin and Thor : Two of the chief gods in the Scandinavian 
and ancient Saxon mythology. 

248. 31. Requiem : A funeral hymn or dirge, especially the Roman 
Mass for the repose of the soul. 

250. 18. Meed : Reward. 

30. Bertha : Nerthus, a German goddess. 

31. Mista ; Skogula : Ancient Saxon gods. 

251. 14. Avaunt: Begone. 

252. 17. Mangonel : A military machine for throwing stones. 

22. Scallop shell of Compostella : The shell brought back by 

a pilgrim as token that he had journeyed to the shrine of St. James 
at Compostella, Spain. Jerusalem, Rome and Compostella were the 
three chief places of the Roman Catholic pilgrimages of the middle 
ages. 

27. War Song of Rollo: The Northman engaging in battle sang of 
wars and deeds of valor. Rollo was a famous Norseman who seized 
and settled Normandy at the beginning of the tenth century. 

34. Shrift : Confession before death. 

253. 8. Howlet : A kind of owl. 

27. Fortalice : Fort. 

254. 2. Pennons : Small flags. 

255. 3. Sallyport : A gate through which those besieged in a 
castle could make a sally or sudden attack. 

8. Malvoisie : A kind of wine. 

256. 11. Surquedy : Presumption. 

20. Doit : A Dutch coin worth about a fourth of a cent ; hence, 
as here, a trifle. 

22. Biggin : Baby cap. 

24. St, Genevieve : The patron saint of the city of Paris. 


NOTES. 


489 


257. 21. Cardinal . A Roman Catholic dignitary of high rank, 
whose badge of office was a red cap. 

259. 22. Seven Kingdoms : The seven Saxon kingdoms of England, 
the Heptarchy. 

32. Wittenag emotes : The general councils, or national assemblies, 
of the Saxons. 

260. 9. St, Bennet or St. Benedict: An Italian monk of the sixth 
century, who founded the Order of the Benedictines. 

36. St. Christopher : A martyr of the third century. The beau- 
tiful legend is well known, concerning his bearing the child Christ 
across the stream. 

261. 3. Deus vobiscum : God be with you. This, Wamba means, 
is the real priest. 

17. St. Augustine : A Latin father of the fourth century, author 
of the fjimous Meditations. The Order of the Augustinians was 
named for him. 

17. De Civitate Dei ; On the City of God. 

21. Sa net a Maria : Holy Mary. 

25. Bull : A decree of the pope, so-called from the bulla, or seal^ 
with which it was confirmed. 

25. Si quis, suadente Didbolo : If any one, inspired by the devil. 

30. ReZiaZ ; Satan. 

262. 27. Mantalets and Pavisses : “ Man tale ts were temporary 
and movable defenses formed of planks, under cover of which 
assailants advanced to the attack of fortified places of old. Pavisses 
were a species of large shields covering the whole person, employed 
on the same occasions.”— Scott. 

263. 13. Bolts : “The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the 
crossbow, as that of the long-bow was called a shaft.” — ScOTT. 

13. Banner with the old bulVs head : Front-de-Boeuf s name means 
bull’s head or front ; hence the emblem on his banner. 

264. 6. Rascaille : Rascal, vulgar. 

10. Hilding : Mean spirited. 

265. 8. Hacqueton : Vest or jacket worn under armor. 

16. Rabbi Jacob Ben Tudela : Rabbi Benjamin, ben Jonah Tudela, 
was a famous Jewish traveler of the twelfth century who devoted 
himself to an investigation of the condition of the Hebrews in 
Eastern and Western countries. 

17. Opine: Think. 

22. Edom : Esau *. the country occupied by his descendants. 

27. Aaron: The first high priest of the Jews. See Exodus 
xxviii. 1-5- 


490 


NOTES. 


266. 29. Cabalistical art : Mysterious art by which certain Jews 
claimed to foretell the future, discover secrets, etc. 

267. 29. Vulnerary : Healing to wounds. 

268. 12. Sooth: Truth. 

30. Natheless: Nevertheless. 

270. 14. Caftan^d: Wearing a caftan, a long, loose robe. 

272. 8. Nazarene : Christian, expressive of contempt. 

11. Brook: Bear, endure. 

29. Guerdon: Reward. 

375. 26. Juvenal: A Latin poet who lived in the first century. In 
the satire here mentioned, he tells how the traveler bearing silver 
vessels trembles at every shadow, while the man with empty hands 
sings before the robber’s face. 

277. 17. Lay leaguer : Lay siege. 

35. Arhlasts^ etc, : “ Tlie arblast was a crossbow, the windlace 
the machine used in bending that weapon, and the quarrel I, so- 
called from its square or diamond shaped head, was the bolt adapted 
to it.”— Scott. 

280. 6. “ The quiver rattleth, etc, : See that sublime passage. Job. 
xxxix. 19-25. 

281. 38. A bar of iron, etc. : Scott was accused of false heraldry 
in this passage, but defended the device. 

282. 1. Fetterlock and shacklebolt : Names in heraldry for a bolt 
or shackle, and a fetlock such as was used to hobble a horse. 

25. Enavant: Forward. 

26. A la rescousse : To tlie rescue. 

35. Cloth yard shafts : Arrows three feet long, the longest arrows 
used by English archers. 

283. 35. Blench: Shrink. 

38. The outer barrier, etc. : Every Gothic castle and city had, 
beyond the outer walls, a fortification composed of palisades, called 
the barriers, which were often the scenes of severe skirmishes, as 
these must necessarily be carried before the walls themselves could 
be approached. Many of those valiant feats of arms which adorn 
the chivalrous pages of Froissart took place at the barriers of be» 
sieged places.”— Scott. 

286. 9. Derring do : daring to do, reckless courage. 

17. Fray : Battle, fight. 

21. Assoilzie : Forgive. 

28. Emprize : Enterprise. 

287. 4. Melee : A hand-to-hand fight among a number of persons 

11. Moloch : A heathen god, worshiped with cruel rites ana 

human sacrifices. 


NOTES. 


491 


19. Hatchment : A tablet set up on a house or in a church on which 
were displayed the arms of the deceased. 

288 . 13. Gideon : See Judges vi. 11 . viii. 

13. Maccabceus: Judas Maccabeus, a famous Jewish hero and 
patriot who lived in the second century before Christ. His history 
is narrated in the Second Book of Maccabees, in the Apocrypha, 

290 . 10. Benedicite : Bless you. 

13. Bruit: Rumor, noise. 

23. Malapert: Impertinent, bold. 

39. Parish butt : A mark set up for archery practice. 

293 . 11 . The chief captain, etc, : See Acts xxii. 25-28. 

30. Close : Inclosed space. 

35. Unshriven : Without confession of sin to a priest. 

36. Unhouseled : Without having the sacrament administered. 

296 . 31. Cover: Underbrush. 

297 . 36. Recreant : Cowardly. 

298 . 21. Avaunt : Away, begone. 

299 . 7. Jeopard : Put in jeopardy or peril. 

16. Halbert : A kind of battle-ax. 

301 . 6 . Fan: Front. 

10. Target : A shield. 

31. Counterpoise : Weight for raising a drawbridge. 

302 . 37. Mount Joye, St. Dennis: A French war-cry. It was said 
that St. Dennis was put to death on a height in Paris called Mount- 
joie. 

303 . 10. Sendai: A light thin silk. 

31. St. Nicholas of Limoges : The altar of St. Nicholas in the city 
of Limoges, France. 

309 . 35. Demi courbette : Half leap. 

310 . 36. Furies : In classic mythology, the three avenging god- 
desses. 

37. Scalds : Ancient Scandinavian poets. 

31 1 . 3. The Fatal Sisters : In classic mythology, the three Fates, 
who spun, measured off, and cut the thread of human life. 

5 . The barbarous hymn, etc. : It will readily occur to the anti- 
quary, that these verses are intended to imitate the antique poetry 
of the scalds, the minstrels of the old Scandinavians — the race, as 
Southey so happily terms them, 

‘ Stern to inflict and stubborn to endure, 

W^'ho smiled in death.’ 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilization and con- 
version, was of a different and softer character ; but in the circum- 
stances of Ulrica, she may not be unnaturally supposed to return to 


492 


NOTES. 


the wild strains which animated her forefathers during the time of 
paganism and untamed ferocity.” — Scott. 

28. Valhalla : Tlie hall of the gods, the paradise of Scandinavian 
mythology, to which appointed maidens called Valkyrias bore the 
brave who died in battle. 

314 . 3. Reck: Care. 

5. Curtal : A monk who was gate keeper to a monastery ; the 
word curtal usually means curt, brief. 

11. Quoth : Said. 

13. Gascoigne wine : Wine from Gascony, in France. 

15. Forefend : Fend, or w^ard off : forbid. 

17. Enow : An old form of the word enougli. 

315 . 4. Liard: A French coin of tlie fifteenth century, worth 
about six cents. 

14. Wear motley : Wear the badge of fools. 

34. Theow and Esne: Thrall and bondman. 

35. Folk free and sacless: A lawful freeman, owing service to no 
one. 

37. Hide : An old English measure of land, variously estimated at 
from sixty to a hundred and twenty acres. 

37. Steads : Estates. 

39. Malison : Malediction, curse. 

316 . 19. Oldhelm of Malmshury : A poet abbot of the seventh 
century. 

319 . 18. Soul scat : “Soul tax, paid to the church for liberation 
of the soul from purgatory.” — S cott. 

19. Propined: Pledged. 

330. 39. Trent and Tees : Rivers in the northern part of England. 

39. Mots: Words “The notes upon the bugles were anciently 
called mots, and are distinguished in the old treatises upon hunting, 
not by musical characters, but by written words.” — Scott. 

333. Misdoubt : Doubt, fear for. 

28. St. Hermangild : A West Gothic prince of the sixth century. 

31. Been at a wet mass : Been drinking. 

38. Sathanas: Satan. 

333. 31. Thunder dint and levin fire : Thunder clap and lightning 
flash. 

334. 33. Ruth: Pity. 

335. 2. Mell: Meddle. ' 

3. Mauger : In spite of. 

9. Quondam : Former, having been formerly. 

35. Vantage : Advantage. 

3361 2. The buffet of the Knight^ etc. : The interchange of a cuff 


NOTES. 


493 


witli the jolly priest is not entirely out of character with Richard I., 
if romances read him aright. In the very curious romance on the 
subject of his adventures in the Holy Land, and his return from 
thence, it is recorded liow he exchanged a pugilistic favor of this 
nature, while a prisoner in Germany. His opponent was the son of 
his principal warder, and was so imprudent as to give challenge to 
this barter of buffets. The king stood forth like a true man, and 
received a blow which staggered him. In requital, having pre- 
viously waxed his hand, — a practice unknown, I believe, to the 
gentlemen of the modern fancy, — he returned the box on the ear 
with such interest as to kill his antagonist on the spot.” — ScOTT. 

19. Totty : Unsteady, from drinking. 

33. Cardecu: An old French coin, worth about thirty cents. 

34. Leman: Sweetheart. 

36. Pyet : Magpie. 

327 . 7. Manus imponere in servos Domini : To lay hands upon the 
servant of the Lord. 

10. Excommunicabo vos : 1 will excommunicate you. To excom- 
municate is to exclude from the Church. 

13. Crown : A silver coin worth about a dollar and twenty cents. 

15. Pentecost: A Jewish religious festival, as a thanksgiving for 
harvest. 

25. Nehnio quidam : A certain good-for-nothing fellow. 

28. Gymnal rings : Rings made of two or more interlocked 
circlets. 

30. Pouncet box : A box for powder or perfume. 

328 . 4. St. Nicodemus : See John iii. 1-21. Nicodemus was never 
admitted to Sainthood by the Romish Church, and the Gospel attrib- 
uted to him is not deemed authentic. 

7. For Allan-a-Dale^ etc. ; A commissary is said to have received 
similar consolation from a certain commander-in-chief, to whom he 
complained that a general officer had used some such threat towards j 
him as that in the text.” — Scott. i 

27. Deusfaciat salvam benignitatem vestram : May God keep your 
rdverence safe, God bless your reverence. 

32. 3Toms dancer : A dancer, in comic costume, who took part in 
pageants. May-day dancers, etc. 

34. St. Andrew's day: November thirtieth, one of the Church 
days for taking tithes. 

329 . 10. Venerie: Hunting. 

36. Abbey-stede : Abbey estate or place. Compare homestead. 

330 . 11. Propter necessitatem et ad frigus depellendum : In case 
of necessity and to ward off the cold. 


494 


NOTES. 


26. Pyx: The vessel containing the bread consecrated for the 
communion service. 

29. Borrows: “Borrows signifies pledges. Hence our word ‘to 
borrow * because we pledge ourselves to restore what is lent.”^ 
Scott. 

32. Collop : Slice. 

331 . 10. The captivity of the ten tribes, etc, : Until the death of 
Solomon the twelve tribes of tlie Jews were one nation. Two tribes, 
Benjamin and Judali, were loyal to Solomon’s son Rehoboam and 
formed the kingdom called Judah ; the other ten tribes, under Jero- 
boam revolted and formed the kingdom of Israel. After prolonged 
warfare at home and abroad, Israel was conquered by Nebucha° 
drezzar, and the ten tribes were carried captive. 

25. Sa* : Save. 

28. The curse of Egypt : See Exodus vii. 14 ; xii. 30. 

34. Latio famosus : Notorious robber. 

332 . 30. Ichabod : See 1 Samuel iv. 19-22, 

335 . 33. Dortour : Dormitory, sleeping rooms. 

336 . 4. Maravedi: In tlie time of Richard I., this was a Spanish 
coin of considerable value ; later, the name was applied to a copper 
coin worth about a quarter of a cent. 

39. Accompts : Accounts. 

337 . 26. Inter res sacros : Among sacred things. 

27. Laical : Of the laymen, the people as distinguished from the 
clergy. 

338 . 4. Vulgate : The Latin version of the Bible, used by the 
Roman Catholics. 

10. Hedge priest : An ignorant priest of low standing. “ Nor 
were such priests [as Robin Hood’s friar] ideal. There exists a 
monition of the Bishop of Durham against irregular churchmen of 
this class, who associated themselves with Border robbers, and des- 
ecrated the holiest offices of the priestly function by celebrating 
them for the benefit of thieves, robbers, and murderers, amongst 
ruins and in caverns of the earth, without regard to canonical form, 
and with torn and dirty attire and maimed rites, altogether im- 
proper for the occasion.” — Scott. 

341 . 19. Ahithophel : The counselor of King David. See 2 Samuel, 
XV. 12, xvii, 23. 

342 . 28. Bloody with spurring, etc. : “ Bloody with spurring, fiery 
red with haste.” — Richard H., act. 2, scene 3, line 58. 

343 . 28. Prowess : Bravery. 

28. Sir Guy, Sir Bevis : Famous heroes of early England ro- 
mance. 


NOTES. 


495 


344 . 3. Take sanctuary: Claim the refuge allowed under the 
church law of the time in certain churches to tliose fleeing from 
justice. 

4. Sworn brother : According to the law of chivalry, sworn 
brothers were companions in arms, vowed to share good or bad 
fortune with each other. The tie was often held more binding than 
that of blood. So Fitzurse seems to expect it to be in this case, for 
Geoffrey, the Archbishop of York, was Richard’s half brother. 

24. The Queen Mother : Eleanor of Aquitaine, who often strove to 
make peace among her warring sons or to protect one against the 
wrath of another. 

31. The horns of the altar : The projections on the altar. 

38. The Humber : An estuary on the east coast of England. 

345 . 10. Austria : Where Richard had just been held captive, 

20. Bewray: Betray. * 

39. Lancelot de Lac : Sir Lancelot of the Lake, a famous hero of 
romance, the greatest of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. 

346 . 9. Apprised : Informed. 

29. He had but to say, etc. : “ Reginald Fitzurse, William de 
Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard Brito, were the gentlemen of 
Henry the Second’s household, wlio, instigated by some passionate 
expressions of their sovereign, slew the celebrated Thomas 
a Becket.” — Scott. 

349 . 4. Imports : Concerns, is of importance. 

31. The law : The law of Moses. 

350 . 18. Preceptories, etc.: “The establishments of the Knights 
Templars were called Preceptories, and the title of those who pre- 
sided in the order was Preceptor ; as the principal Knights of 
St. John were termed Commanders and their houses Commanderies. 
But these terms were sometimes, it would seem, used indiscrim- 
inately . ’’—Scott. 

351 . 7. Extended his glove : See Psalms lx. 8 . 

38. Necromancy : Witchcraft. 

352 . 9. Halberdiers : Soldiers armed with halberds. 

353 . 15. The rule of St. Bernard: The laws of the Order of the 
Knights Templars were drawn up under the supervision of St. Ber- 
nard, a devout French abbot of the twelfth century. 

16. Burrel cloth: A coarse, rougli cloth. 

19. Vair : Fur, supposed to be that of the gray squirrel. 

354 . 3. Robert de Ros: A famous Knight Templar, who died in 
1227, more than thirty years after the period of this story. 

6 . William de Mareschal : Anotlier Knight Templar buried in the 
Temple Church. He died in 1219. 


496 


NOTES, 


20. Capital: Chapter. 

21. Ut Leo semper feriatur: Tliat the lion [Satan] may always 
be beaten down. “ In the ordinances of the Kniglits of the Temple, 
this phrase is repeated in a variety of forms and occurs in almost 
every chapter, which may account for its being so frequently put 
in the Grand Master’s mouth.” — Scott. 

31. The Poor Soldiers of the Temple : The Knights were organized 
to defend pilgrims on their way to the Holy Sepulcher, and were 
called the Poor Soldiers of the Temple of Solomon, from their resi- 
dence near the site of the Temple. They came to be known as 
Knights Templars. 

355 . 24. Ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula : That all 
women’s kisses are to be avoided. 

26. Our pure founders: The order was founded in 1118 by Hugh 
de Payens, Geoffrey de St. Omer, and seven other knights, wdiose 
names are unknown. 

35 . The streaks of leprosy , etc, : See Leviticus xiv. 33-57. 

37. Basilisk: A fabulous dragon or serpent whose look was 
alleged to be fatal. 

356 . 3. Brand : Sword. 

3. Phineas : See Numbers xxv. 6-14. 

9. Consuetude: Custom. 

37. Novitiate : Period of probation or trial. 

357 . 7. Popinjay: Parrot, chattering coxcomb. 

14. Compeer: Equal, companion. 

27. Machinator : Plotter. 

359 . 9. De lectione literarum : Concerning the reading of letters. 

20. With thy fanners, etc. : See Matthew iii. 12. 

28. Drink the bounties of Bacchus, etc. : The prior gives his greeting 
in the name of the pagan divinities, Bacchus, the wine god, and 
Venus, the goddess of love. 

360 . 9. Vinum Icetificat cor hominis: Wine maketh glad the 
heart of man. 

10. Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua : The King shall take de- 
light in thy beauty. 

14. Aymer: Aymer Prior Sancti Monasterie Jorvolciencis, Prior 
of tlie Holy Monastery of Jorvaulx. 

361 . 13. Semper percutiatur leo vorans , That the roaring lion 
may always be smitten. 

18. Sigils: Marks or signs, especially those supposed to have 
magic power. 

18. Periapts : Charms to ward off disease or misfortune, amulets. 

363 * 21. De commilitonibus Templi^ etc. : Concerning the Knight 


NOTES. 


407 


in the holy order of the Temple who associate with wicked women. 

364 . 10. St. Magdalene: See Mark xvi. 9. She was never put in 
the calendar of saints by the Church of Rome. 

10. The ten thousand virgins : According to the legend eleven 
thousand virgins returning from a pilgrimage to Rome were mar- 
tyred by the Huns at Cologne. 

16. Quean : A worthless woman. 

39. Delilah, etc. : See Judges xvi., 6-12. 

366 , 1. Le don d'amoreux merci : Gift of grateful love, 

367 . 81. Hie: Hasten. 

26. In flagrant delict : In commission of the offense. 

371 . 35. Venite exultemus Domino : Come let us rejoice in the^ 
Lord ; the first words of Psalm xcv. 

372 . 35. Holy St. Bernard, etc. : “ The reader is again referred to 
the rules of the Poor Military Brotherhood of the Temple, wliich 
occur in the works of St. Bernard.’’ — Scott. 

373 . 12. Sortilege: Decision by drawing lots, magic. 

374 . 5. Quod mdlus juxta, etc. : That no one should walk accord- 
ing to his own will. 

7. Utfratres non participent, ete. : That the brethren should 
have nothing to do with excommunicated persons. 

8 . Anathema Maranaiha : The curse of everlasting destruction. 
See 1. Corinthians, xvi. 22 . 

10 . Utfratres non conversantur, etc. : That the 'brethren should 
have no conversation with worldly women. 

20. De osetdis fugiendis : Concerning the avoiding of kisses. 

376 . 30. Avoid : Depart. 

378 , 21. Camphire: Camphor. 

382 . 33. Vaunt: Boast. 

383 . 33. Gage: Pledge. 

387 . 15. Essoine : “Essoine signifies excuse, and here relates to 
the appellant’s privilege of appearing by her champion, in excuse 
of her own person, on account of her sex.” — ScOTT. 

17, Devoir: Duty. 

25. Puissant: Powerful. 

289 . 5. Capul : A horse ; usually a work-horse. 

13. Rabbi ben Samuel : Probably meant for Rabbi ben Israel, be- 
fore mentioned. 

25. Genii : Powerful spirit demons. According to Jewish legend 
Solomon controlled these by the power of the words inscribed on his 
seal. 

29. Asper : A Turkish coin worth about three-fifths of a penny. 

390 . 2. Phlebotomy: Blood-letting. 


498 


NOTES. 


10. Benoni : Child of my sorrow. See Genesis, xxxv. 18. 

10. Rebecca : The name means, in Hebrew, of enchanting beauty^ 

16. As Daniel, etc. : See Daniel vi. 4-23. 

21. Wither in a night, etc. : See Jonah iv. 5-11. 

391 . 19. Boabdil: A King of the Moors in Spain. The best known 
of the name was the last Moorish King who was defeated by Ferdi- 
nand in 1491. 

392 . 28. 3Iancus : An Englisli coin, of value varying from 25 
cents to $1.90. 

393 . 7. When Israel, etc. : See Exodus xiii. 20-22. 

16. Timbrel: A Jewisli musical instrument. 

32. Oar harps ive left, etc. : See Psalm cxxxvii. 1. 

34. Censer: A vessel for burning incense. 

397 . 36. Ghostly father : Priest. 

401 . 18. Ingots: Uncoined gold and silver. 

33. The Divine Presence, etc. : It was at the mercy-seat, the 
cover of the Ark of Covenant, that God revealed Himself and His 
will to His chosen people, the Jews. On this mercy-seat were two 
cherub figures of gold. 

403 . 6 . Complaisance: Compliance, willingness to oblige. 

36. Exorcisms : Magic or religious rites to drive out evil spirits. 

406 . 28. ^Lee gage : Side protected from the wind ; hence, shel- 
tered, or safe side. 

408 . 13. Destrier : War horse. 

30. Fructus Tempornm : Fruit of the Times ; the name of a book 
of chronicles. 

409 . 5. Manciple : Steward. 

411 . 3. Targe: Target, shield. 

21. Virelai: An old French poem. 

412 , 14. Roundelay: A song. 

27. HuPs : He is, his. 

29. Ap : Son of. 

415 . 37. Gamut : Musical scale. 

416. 28. Morrioa: A kind of helmet, used in the sixteenth cen- 
tury. 

418 . 3. Hamstringing: Cutting tlie tendons of the ham. 

27. Equerry : An officer in the household of a king or nobleman, 
who had charge of the horses. 

419 . 12. Thy disobedience to thy father: Richard frequently re- 
sisted his father’s authority even to the point of warfare. 

420 . 19. Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest : He was a famous semi- 
legendary outlaw, renowned for archery, tlie hero of many a tale 
and ballad. His favorite liaunt was Sherwood Forest, in Yorkshire. 


NOTES. 


499 


“ From the ballads of Robin Hood we learn that tliis celebrated 
outlaw when in disguise sometimes assumed the name of Locksley, 
from a village where he was born, but where situated we are not 
told.”— Scott. 

420. 37. Houghed : Hamstrung. 

421. 5. Confiteor : I confess. 

27. Crosier : A bishop’s crook or staff of office. 

422. 35. Vert : Freedom of the forest. 

423. 6. Strike : Excellence of quality. 

424. 8. Plantagenet : The house of Anjou, so called from the 
planta genest a, broom plant, a sprig of which was worn in the 
caj) of Geoffrey, Henry II. ’s father, as a symbol of humility. 

429. 36. Black letter garlands : Collections of ballads, printed in 
black letter, a heavy antique type. 

430. 27. Barroiu : Burial mound. 

35. Circumvallation : Outer fortifications. 

431. 38. Croirds and rotes: “ The crowth, or crowd, was a species 
of violin. The rote, a sort of guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the 
strings of which were managed by a wheel, from which the instru- 
ment took its name.” — Scott. 

435. 29. Wimple : A covering for the head and neck. 

30. Cypresb^ : A crape-like cloth. 

438. 29. Edgar Atheling : The grandson of Edmund Ironside. 
After the death of Edward the Confessor, he was the nearest heir 
totlie throne. King Malcolm of Scotland married Margaret, one 
of his sisters. 

440. 9. 3 Iort de ma vie : Death of my life. 

24. Weasand : Windpipe. 

441. 12. Oubliette: Dungeon. 

21. Twelfth Night : The twelfth night after Christmas, Epiphany 
evening. 

443. 36. Tregetour : Juggler. 

446. 25. Fly off with the supper i “ The resuscitation of Athelstane 
has been much criticised, as too violent a breach of lU'obability, 
even for a work of such a fantastic character. It was a tour-de- 
force, to which the author was cornpelledi to have recourse, by 
the vehement entreaties of his friend and printer, who was incon- 
solable on the Saxon being conveyed to the tomb.” — ScOTT. 

448. 27. By'r Lady : By the Virgin Mary. 

36. Dole : Gifts, alms. 

, 449. 21. Sacring hell : A small bell used in Mass and communion 
service. 

451. 12. Barret cap : A square official cap, military or religious. 


500 


NOTES. 


27. Neophytes : Probationers, recent converts, 

453. 3. Te igitur : Thou therefore, — a church service book so- 
called from its first words ; on this book oaths were sworn. 

17. Oyez : Hear, listen, — an old French word used to call atten- 
tion to a proclamation, introduced into English courts by William 
the Conqueror, and surviving to the present time. 

455 . 4. Sadducees : A Jewish sect sceptical of the resurrection. 

.15. Scutcheon : The same as escutcheon ; a shield bearing a coat 
.of arms. 

36. Greek fire: A combustible composition, supposed to be made 
of asphalt, niter, and sulphur, used in warfare by the Greeks of the 
Eastern Empire, and later by the Mohammedans. 

458 . 2. Faites vos devoirs^ preux chevaliers: Do your duty, 
gallant knights. 

33. Fiat voluntas tua : Thy will be done. 

460 . 30. Quare fremuerunt Gentes : Why do the heathen rage ? 
The first words of Psalm II. 

461 . 15. But sun-humed: Not fair enough to fight for. 

465 , 89. King de facto: Reigning king. 

468 . 10. Ephraim : One of the twelve tribes of Israel, proud 
and haughty, but brought down to captivity and final oblivion. 

469 . 21. Commons ; Common people. 

470 . 27. The premature death : Richard was wounded by an arrow 
while besieging the castle of one of his French barons, with wliom 
he had quarreled about some treasure found on 'the baron’s estate. 
The King died from the effects of this wound, April 6 , 1199. 

32. The lines composed, etc.: Charles XII., the renowned King 
of Sweden, was killed in battle. Tlie lines quoted are taken by 
Scott, with one or two verbal alterations, from The Vanity of 
Human Wishes, a poem by Samuel Johnson. 


REFERENCES. 


Life of Scott 


[ Painter’s English Literature. 
Pancoast’s “ “ 

Me William’s “ 

Lockhart’s Life of Scott. 


Green’s Short History of the English People. 
Montgomery’s English History. 

Dickens’ Child’s History of England. 
Gardener’s English History. 


TOPICS. 

Norman Conquest. Norman Kings. Plantagenets (especially 
descent). Norman life, customs, etc. Saxon vs. Norman. The 
Crusades. 


GENERAL PREPARATION. 

Make a map of Yorkshire and that part of England spoken of in 
the story, and locate the places mentioned as you come to them. 

Explain, from history, the feudal system, chivalry and the duties 
of Kiiiglits. Give account of the Knights Templars, when and 
why founded, duties, powers, etc. Explain position of Jews at time 
of story. 

/ 

CHAPTER I. 

Locate in your map the scene of the story as given here. Explain 
position and duties of Gurth and Wamba. Where do they stand in 
the feudal system. Describe exactly the dress of each, explaining 
its fitness for their position, its sign of servitude, etc. Explain who 
and what a jester was. What other jesters have been famous in 
literature ? What do you learn from their talk of the political con- 
ditions of the times? Account fully for this condition. 

501 


502 


REFERENCES. 


CHAPTER II. 

Write a description of the churchman ; of the Templar. What 
do you learn of each, from their talk? How do Gurth’s actions 
reveal him? What in Chapter I. helps to account for his and 
Wamba’s actions ? Explain fully the significance of the term 
Palmer. What advantages conferred by the dress, etc. ? Read 
carefully the description of Rothervvood, then draw a rough plan 
^f it, naming various parts, and showing defenses, etc. 

CHAPTER III. 

Describe carefully Cedric’s banquet hall and its fittings. How do 
they compare with the outward appearance of Rotherwood ? Is it 
well fitted for defense ? Why ? Describe Cedric’s dress. Compare 
it, point for point, with Gurth’s ; with the Templar’s. Account for 
thejatter’s impatience. Why does Scott choose this time to bring 
Norman and Saxon together ? With whom are your sympathies, 
Saxon or Norman ? Why ? Does Cedric’s opinion of Bois-Guilbert 
agree with yours ? Defend your opinion. Explain exactly Rowena’s 
place in the household, and relationship to Cedric. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Compare the dress of the Normans with their previous dress. 
Describe exactly the Palmer’s dress. What advantage given by it ? 
How did he increase this advantage ? Comment on actions of Prior 
Aymer and Bois-Guilbert; as fitting with your ^estimate of them. 
How do Wamba’s words and acts show the Jester’s place ? Describe 
exactly Rowena’s looks and dress. 

Taking all the material so far given, write the following themes 
of about 150-200 words each. 

Saxon Dress : Men, Women, Serfs. Norman Dress : Nobles, 
Churchmen. Tlie Jester, Position, Dress, etc. Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert. 

CHAPTER V. 

Describe the condition of the Jews at this time, accounting for 
Isaac’s reception. Describe his dress, dwelling on differences from 
the others. What impression is produced by the Palmer’s act ? How 
do you explain Rowena's loyalty to Ivan hoe ? Why does the Palmer 
know so much about tournaments, etc., among the crusaders? 
Wliy does he accept so quickly Bois-Guilbert’s challenge to Ivan- 
hoe? What reasons have you for thinking his Palmer’s dress as- 
sumed as a disguise ? Do you think him Norman or Saxon ? Why I 


KEFERENCES. 


503 


CHAPTER VI. 

Why does the Palmer refuse the steward’s invitation to the serv- 
ants’ hall? Account for Rowena’s wish to see him in her own 
apartment? Why does Scott place his cell between Gurth’s and the 
Jew's? How do you account for his eagerness to help the despised 
Jew ? For Gurth’s change of heart on hearing the whisper ? What 
clue here as to the Palmer’s identity ? 

Tell, in your own words, what has been done so far ? How mucli 
is Introduction ? Where does the action of man against man begin ? 
What two are to stand against each other? Wliere is this first 
evident ? In which is the interest greater, actors or actions ? 
Which characters seem alive, which mere lay figures ? 

CHAPTER VII. 

Explain what a tournament was. Explain from history the con- 
dition of affairs in England at this time. Who suffered more from 
the King’s absence, Saxon or Norman? Why? How does tliis 
chapter help one to understand the relations of^axon and Norman 
and the condition of the Jews ? Compare Rebecca and Rowena, 
looks, dress, etc. What estimate of Prince John from his appear- 
ance here ? 


CHAPTER VIII. 

What new evidence of Prince John’s character? Explain the 
plan for the three days of the tournament. Draw a plan of the 
lists. What impression is given by Athelstane? Explain why this 
is a favorable point for the appearance of the Disinlierited Knight. 
Why does he challenge as he does? Describe the dress and arms of 
a Knight of that time. (Consult dictionary for meaning of terms. * 

CHAPTER IX. 

What clues have you so far. Chapters VIII. and IX, as to the Dis- 
inherited Knight’s identity? Write a detailed account of Prince 
John’s actions and your estimate of him, so far. 

CHAPTER X. 

Comment on the Disinherited Knight’s action in the matter of the 
ransoms. His. payment of the Jew. How do you account for Re- 
becca’s action ? For Gurth’s being with the Disinherited Knight ? 


504 


REFERENCES. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Give detailed account of Gurth’s adventure with the outlaws. Is 
there any trace of comedy in it ? Have there been any others so 
far? Give account of the outlaws of that day. What character- 
istics of Gurth’s are seen here ? Any trace of them before ? Your 
estimate of the outlaws and their captain. Where has he appeared 
before ? 

CHAPTER XIL 

Describe the nature and laws of the melee or general combat of 
the second day. Why is Athelstane with Bois-Guilbert ? Explain 
Prince John’s refusal to end the contest and save the Disinherited 
Knight. On the sudden aid of the Black Sluggard just at this crisis, 
and his as sudden disappearance. On Prince John’s unwillingness 
to name the Disinherited Knight victor. Why did the Black Slug- 
gard not interfere in the fight with Bois-Guilbert ? State the points 
that have prepared for the identity of the Disinherited Knight. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Explain Prince John’s giving to Front-de-Boeuf lands belonging 
to Ivanlioe. What do you learn of Prince John here ? What sort 
of King would he make ? Account for his reception of the news 
from France : for Locksley’s boldness in speaking to him. Describe 
the archery contest. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Compare Saxcn and Norman as seen at the banquet. Account for 
Prince John’s treatment of the Saxons whom he wished to conciliate. 
Did you expect Cedric to name Richard or John in his toast ? Why ? 
What is accomplished by this chapter ? 

CHAPTER XV. 

Explain the plot here formed. Why does De Bracy enter ? Why 
Fitzurse ? Bois-Guilbert ? Why do they choose Front-de-Boeuf ’s 
castle ? Explain who and what De Bracy is ? 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Explain the Black Knight’s sudden departure. His seeking hid- 
den roads. Compare him as a Knight with Ivanhoe. What do you 
learn of him from his encounter with the Clerk of Copmanhurst ? 
Compare the latter with Prior Aymer. Explain the change in the 


REFERENCES. 


505 


Clerk. What evidence of another calling than the Church for the 
Clerk ? 

CHAPTER XVII. 

What is the purpose of this interlude ? What do you learn of the 
Black Kniglit? Of the Priest? Write a composition on the theme, 
“ A Merry Evening.” 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Explain Cedric’s indifference to Ivanhoe’s welfare. His going to 
i}he banquet after refusing. Why does Rowena refuse ? Explain 
Cedric’s treatment of Gurth ; of Fangs. Gurth’s answer. How does 
Atlielstane impress you as a man to be King of England ? Give par- 
ticulars of Cedric’s scheme. What explanation of previous events 
is given by this ? 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Comment on Athelstane’s treatment of Isaac. Why does Rowena 
grant the Jew’s request ? Was Cedric wise or foolish to press on in 
defiance of the news of the outlaws? Did you expect it thus? 
Why ? Comment on Gurth’s actions. What advantage to Cedric 
in his well-known Saxon preferences ? 

CHAPTER XX. 

Explain Locksley’s readiness to aid. Where have you seen him 
before ? Impression of him from these. Is this scene at the her- 
mitage in harmony with the previous ? Why ? What do you learn 
of Locksley’s character and identity ? 

CHAPTER XXL 

Look up in dictionary and cyclopedia, Castle, and compare Tor- 
quilstone with the castle described here. Draw a plan of Torquil- 
stone and its defenses. Explain its fitness for the purpose in hand. 
Who are the Harold and Tosti of whom Cedric speaks? How 
does Front-de-Boeuf come to own Torquilstone ? What do you think 
of Cedric’s explanation of the Norman conquest ? Why does he keep 
Athelstane as chief when he sees the latter’s faults ? What prospect 
for Rowena’s happiness with such a husband? Why does Scott so 
persistently dwell on Athelstane’s faults ? 

CHAPTER XXII. 

What do you think of Norman vs. Saxon so far ? Which Norman 
io you think the worst? Which Saxon? Compare these two. 


506 


REFERENCES. 


Wlidl seems to you the wor^t feature of Froiit-de-Boouf’s treatment 
of Isaac ? What is seen of Isaac’s character here ? Why does Front- 
de-I>oeuf cease the torture ? explain fully. How does this chapter 
refer back to the previous ? 

CHAPTER XXHI. 

How does De Bracy compare with Front-de-Boeuf ? Comment on 
Rowena’s actions and bearing ; are they what you had expected? 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

How does Urfried’s tale fit your picture of the Normans ? How 
do you account for her 'treatment of Rebecca? How many know 
the identity of the wounded man ? What added interest is coji- 
veyed by his presence. Compare the scene between the Templar 
and Rebecca with that in Chapter XXHI. Whom do you admire 
more, Rowena or Rebecca ? Explain the Templar’s plan. From 
what you have seen of him, could he carry it out ? 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Comment on the character of each man as revealed when the 
cartel is i-ead. On their plan of action. Describe the besiegers’ 
party as to members, arms, leaders, etc. Comment on Wamba's 
scheme. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Why do Front-de-Boeuf and his companions suspect no trick? 
Is their density unnatural, overdrawn to fit the plot? Do you 
think Waniba really half-witted ? Why? Comment on characters 
of Athelstane and Cedric as seen here. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Does Urfried’s confession to Cedric rouse sympathy for her or 
for Front-de-Bceuf ? Why? Comment on her plan for revenge. 
On Cedric’s treatment of her. On her offer of aid. Could tl>e 
besiegers have succeeded without aid from witliin the placer 
W'ere you prepared for Front-de-Boeuf’s credulity as seen in his talk 
with Cedric? Why? Trace Bracy’s intervention for Wamba? 
\Vbifh is tlie strongest emotion in Front-de-Boeuf’s heart? IIov,- 
do( s Athelstane show here? Of what advantage has the Blade 
Knight been to the besiegers so far? 


REFERENCES. 


507 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Explain how Rebecca gained her knowledge of medicine. Does 
her care for Ivanhoe seem natural ? Why ? Wliy does de Bracy 
not tell Front-de-Boeuf of the identity of Ivanhoe? What would 
have followed had Front-de-Boeuf known ? Why ? 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Comment on Scott’s device of letting Rebecca describe the figlit to 
Ivanhoe ; its advantages and disadvantages. Why does not Ivan- 
hoe recognize the device of the Black Knight? What would the 
broken fetters signify ? ^ • 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Comment on interview between De Bracy and the Templar. Is 
De Bracy a coward ? Wliy ? What new evidence of Locksley’s skill 
as an archer? Compare it with tliat before given. Is Front-de- 
Boeuf’s death-bed scene overdrawn? Is Ulrica’s share in the fall of 
tlie castle natural or a mere device of Scott’s to get rid of the place ? 
(Answer with full reasons.) 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Explain in detail the Black Knight’s plan for attack ; — the Tem- 
plar’s plan for escape ; — De Bracy’s instant surrender. Why does he 
tell of Ivanhoe’s presenci? in the castle ? What similar deeds has he 
done? Does the Templars carrying off Rebecca fit his character? 
Commept on Wamba’s share in the escape. On Athelstane’s 
attempt at stopping Bois-Guilbert. Explain Bois-Guilbert’s going to 
Templestovve. Why does Scott have Ulrica die in the burning 
castle ? 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

When does this scene take place? Tell exactly what is done by 
Cedric, the Black Knight, Locksley and Rowena at the trysting 
tree. Why does not Cedric set Wamba free as he does Gurth? 
Comment on Rowena’s treatment of De Bracy. On the scene be- 
tween the Black Kniglit and De Bracy. What is the purpose of the 
scene between Isaac and Friar Tuck ? How is sympathy for the Jew t 
increased? Why does the Black Knight interfere? How does the 
scene of the change of buffets compare with other scenes between 
the two ? 

CHAPTER XXXin. 

Is the scene of Prior Aymer’s capture needed in the story ? V7]iy ? 
Comment on the scene between Jew and churchman, — outlaw nviest 


508 EEFEREINOES. 

and churchman. Which man do you admire most ? Is too much 
heaped on Isaac ? 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Write a character sketch of Prince John as you have seen him 
before and here, referring to incidents to prove your points. What 
is Fitzurse’s part in the story ? 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Explain the position and powers of the Grand Master of the Tem- 
plars. Compare Beaumanoir with other churchmen seen so far? 
What hint of new danger for Rebecca? Have you any sympathy 
for the Templar ? Why ? 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Explain the law by which Beaumanoir’s plans to secure Rebecca’s 
death without danger to the Preceptory. How is your sympathy 
for Rebecca increased, for Bois-Guilbert decreased ? On the way to 
the trial what incident that showed Rebecca a friend’s presence ? 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Why does not Beaumanoir see through Malvoisin and Mont 
Fitchet ? What do you infer as to the f utuj’e of an order ruled by a 
visionary bigot, a selfish licentiate, and a crafty schemer, and con- 
taining such men as Bois-Guilbert. Tell from history the fate of 
the order. Describe the trial and comment on the nature of the 
evidence. Compare it with a trial for witchcraft in New England. 
Explain why Bois-Guilbert advises Rebecca to demand a champion. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Comment on the treatment of Rebecca when she seeks a mes- 
senger. On Isaac’s reception of the news. Is it as you expected ? 
Has he any claim on Ivanhoe? 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

How does the Templar show in the interview with Rebecca? 
What is his ruling passion? Comment on his scheme. On Mal- 
voisin’s arguments. On Rebecca as seen here. 

CHAPTER XL. 

Criticize Scott’s metliod of breaking in at an exciting point, to go 
back for another thread of the story. Its effect? Could it be 


BEFERENCES. 


509 


avoided with so many threads ? If so, how ? Compare the clergy 
of St. Botolph’s with the others in the story. Comment on 
Wamba’s actions in the attack. On Fitzurse’s plot. Was it un- 
usual, at that time ? What of the one behind Fitzurse ? Had 
Richard in any way deserved it? Compare the revealing of Rich- 
ard’s identity and Ivan hoe’s. What preparation for it ? Why has 
the King come back so ? Compare this with the other outlaw 
scenes. 

CHAPTER XLI. ' 

Compare Richard and Locksley as leaders of men. Compare Con 
ingsburgh ; with Torquilstone ; with Rotlierwood. Describe a 
Saxon funeral, from this and the following chapter. 

CHAPTER XLH. 

Comment on Cedric and Richard as seen in the interview. With 
whom are your sympathies? Why? The resurrection of Athel- 
stane has been called impossible, a serious error on Scott’s party, 
— your opinion with reasons. Comment on Athelstane’s change of 
heart. 

CHAPTER XLIH. 

Describe the scene at Templestowe. How does Bois-Guilbert ap- 
pear here? Do you think Ivanhoe would have aided Rebecca as 
willingly against another than Bois-Guilbert? Comment on the 
manner of Bois-Guilbert’s death and its fitness. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

Did Beaumanoir and Templestowe meet their just deserts ? Why ? 
Is this last exploit of Richard’s consistent with that you have seen 
of him ? Do you approve of the conclusion as far as Rebecca is con- 
cerned ? Would you wish her to marry Ivanhoe ? Which char 
acter do you most admire ? 

READINGS. 

The Talisman, Quentin Durward — Scott, 

Here ward tluj Wake — Kingsley, 

Ballads of Robin Hood. 

Robin Hood — Howard Pyle, 

Phrah the Phoenician — Arnold, 

Harold — Bidwer Lytton, 


510 


EEFERENCES. 


REVIEW WORK. 

For Bois-Guilbert, Ivanhoe, Rebecca, Rowena, Black Knight, 
Locksley^ Make outline of his or her part in the story, as— 

Bois-Guilbert. 

t. In the forest. 1 

1. Meets Gurth and Wamba. 
a. Misdirected by them. 

2. Meets Palmer. 

a. Guided to Rotherwood, 

II. At Rotherwood, etc. 

Write essays on following themes — " 

England under Richard. 

A Tournament in the Middle Ages, 

A Norman Castle. 

A Saxon Noble and his home. , \ 

The Jews in the Middle Ages. 

A treacherous brother (Prince John). 

Robin Hood. A' 

A faithful serf (Gurth or Wamba). *' 

The trial of Rebecca. 

The Knights of the Temple. ^ 


/ 


. . i 


LRBAp'26 



1 







■K^-' ‘;V-‘ ’llLi- 

mm' Bfc : KBittiKiW-’’ ■ ‘V_ • V 


mr '/ * 



4 . 


jfVj. 


, . •,' I - ‘ 


'T 


' t 



i J ‘ r ^ ' 


j ' I •! • // .d 




n 


ii' ' ' \s" ■•: ■■; 

IhM -j 'i w i*/^ . ,•/# '!_ _»_•. 

A; 


0 


■■"; ' V .? • '.V -,v” ■ Jv^'v /!*‘.«L3 

■"^,1 • ' y '■' ; ■•' ■ • > • v. 

»* * • ( ’ •' i ‘t ■* 

^ * ' _ * • • il • V ^ . 


■. •'»i 


K^ 




r ► I 




P;'::#^f’^. •?v;«Sv 


» \ 4 





y 


■. TBPUy^-.'v ■ 

nlJ' ': 'Rr 


^ ^ .4:ia 






vr 


f ■ • 



i;*: vit^l '.'iw * 





1 





r. ;•'*."> 



' •*■** * - 
W' 




• . - -v; / 

» . j - I ■ # cv '. • ■ 


* » 




-«elv 


vA. 'ifX. ■;. ?iy‘ 


iti 


4'>i'“ .7 ..‘ ' 

L 1 V d * »1 • ( * 

tA * ^ -l^^* ■ ^ 

. .itm >’ fiTiV- . 


. .J^- 

”W. 








